


The Increase of Signs

by mz18



Series: The Increase of Signs [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Autistic Julian Bashir, Childhood Trauma, Disassociative state, Dom Julian Bashir, Dom/sub, Dominion War (Star Trek), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Languages, M/M, Past Abuse, Post-Book: Enigma Tales (Star Trek), Post-Canon Cardassia, Post-Dominion War (Star Trek), Sub Elim Garak, Universal Translator, language learning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 86,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mz18/pseuds/mz18
Summary: While on a mission, the universal translators fail. It becomes apparent that Garak can speak an untold number of languages, whilst Julian, unable to speak any language other than his native one, becomes overwhelmed and distressed. After this incident, together Garak and Julian begin to confront their relationship to language, which has been warped by their respective childhoods, setting them on a long journey with unexpected consequences.
Relationships: Elim Garak & Kelas Parmak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: The Increase of Signs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145288
Comments: 97
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

Garak, Julian, Lieutenant Dax, and Major Kira had been beamed down to a planet recently caught up in the Dominion War, with many casualties and in need of equipment and supplies. It was in some ways a routine mission, but such missions had only become routine due to the onset of full-blown war between the Quadrants. The Doctor attended to those whose injuries required treatments which the local makeshift infirmary and barely trained medical staff could not provide; Major Kira directed the distribution of supplies, whilst Lieutenant Dax assessed their technical capabilities and did her best to improve what little they had. They were allies in this desperate war and they could not afford to lose any of them. Garak's purpose was almost ambassadorial – this planet had taken in defecting Cardassians, who had somehow smuggled themselves off Cardassia Prime, fleeing from their now Dominion-occupied home world, and who had transferred their loyalties to the side of the Federation. Ostensibly, Garak was there to demonstrate to these new political refugees (and fighters in the war) that the Federation and Cardassia were indeed working together for the liberation of their people – underneath this, he was to extract as much information as he could discreetly manage, and to ascertain how earnest these Cardassians were in their newfound loyalty to the Federation. It had been some time since he had seen so many of his own people, and even longer since he had met them in this capacity, considered a comrade-in-arms rather than an outcast. Once he had approached the first Cardassian, he had switched off his universal translator, and they reciprocated the gesture. Oh, how wonderful to hear Cardassi, living, spoken, not out of the mouths of lifeless robotic recordings. It also made his task easier, as without the need for the universal translator he could dissect the nuances and inflections of his native tongue, drawing out further information, merely by picking up on a certain manner of phrasing, an intonation, a choice of word. He had not enjoyed himself so thoroughly in a long while. Engaging in unfiltered Cardassian conversation, even if only briefly, and for a specific, calculated purpose under not exactly ideal circumstances, awoke a part of him that he could not access on the space station. 

As he was conversing with his compatriots, he sensed someone's eyes on him, though not unfriendly. The Doctor, whilst evidently scanning a patient with a tricorder, had glanced his way with as much subtlety as he could manage. He enjoyed having Julian's gaze upon him, and not only for the more obvious and physical reasons. Certainly, it was a thrill to be in the (to him) unusual position of experiencing being looked upon or looked over as something positive instead of being a high-alert threat and warning. He could admit to the pleasure evoked in him by Julian's warm brown eyes examining his figure, moving over him as if he was seeking to caress him without actually touching his scales – this type of seduction sent heat straight to his neck ridges every time he was subject to it and the Doctor was irritatingly (fortunately) all too aware of his impact and in recent times, had become bolder and bolder in deploying such covert caressing glances in public places. For he loved nothing more than to test and tease his partner, and to see how he would react and repay him later. However, this was not one such glance. This was another kind, which Garak found equally arousing, however in a very different manner. Julian was looking for information, was cataloguing his movements and expressions, interpreting them as best he could, and at an unspecified time in the future, he would try use these micro-fragments to gain further information about Garak, to draw him out, and his lover would give him something small, hint at something else, lead him away from it, and add another layer to their interactions. More often than not, Julian was not quite equal to the task, yet Garak hesitated to formulate this assessment in exactly this manner.

When he and Julian had first become a couple, he had initiated this aspect of their relationship, this game, which, as with all games, was at its heart deadly serious, and he had misunderstood Julian's inability to read his signals or to pick up on the trial he was feeding out to him. He had misinterpreted it as a lack of interest, of real interest on Julian's side. It had been too easy to convince himself of the superficiality of the Doctor's feelings for him, at best, and of their calculated deceit, at worst. Indeed, he himself had, to start with, been drawn to Julian due to his sheer physical beauty, a bonus to having a source on the station he could easily manipulate, a piece of amusement. But somewhere along the way, the situation had gone terribly wrong for him as he found himself subject to strong feelings for this human, and well, that often made it difficult for him to objectively assess how things were between them. He was plagued by continual doubts, and he was too ashamed to allow his partner to be made aware of this. He had mistakenly believed that if Julian was not partaking of the game laid out for him, this then indicated his lack of corresponding strong feelings. After operating under a heavy darkness for several days, he re-examined their interactions, and casting his mind back to the aftermath of Richard and Amsha Bashir's visit to the station, some niggling pieces had fallen into place. It was not that his partner did not care – he simply struggled to read such nuance which Cardassians took for granted, such unspoken meanings and hints. It related to his childhood, when he was still a boy called Jules, before being made an augment. The darkness had cleared to be replaced by a softer kind of sadness for his partner – not because of how he was, for to Elim Garak, he was perfectly him and required no fundamental change. It was a sadness for the little boy who had been told he was not how he was supposed to be in this world. He wondered if Jules, and Julian, had often been lonely, faced with such reactions. The sadness was felt on Julian's behalf because recognised that his partner to some degree still felt that he was not how he was supposed to be in this world. Julian was aware that other sorts of interactions and meanings were taking place around him which he could scarcely perceive, let alone read or respond to. That was when Garak had first noticed how Julian observed him and gazed upon him in this information-seeking manner. He seemed to have determined that taking his cue from Garak in certain social situations, or other situations requiring more diplomacy, was a good strategy, and Garak could not fault him there. It did not escape his notice how Julian copied certain responses and affects from him, to be deployed where he had extrapolated they would be most effective. By consciously doing this, he did begin to learn about this other way of communicating and at some point, it had clicked for him too that Garak was communicating with him in a manner heretofore unrecognised by him. The first time he had felt Julian's eyes upon him in this way, knowing he was now actively attempting to play his game, had been rewarding and overwhelming in equal parts. He was aware that Julian was currently watching him, noting some small difference in him, and as he had not witnessed him and his fellow Cardassians turning off their universal translators, he was not aware precisely what was colouring Garak's interactions. Or perhaps he did? How did Garak appear to outside observers when talking in Cardassi, unfiltered, with other native speakers? Did his external demeanour shift to match his internal setting? What did Julian make of it? Oh, to be on an unending journey of discovery and being discovered by this man, he wanted so much to give himself over to that adventure. He sought to refocus his attentions on the task at hand, distancing himself from the far too pleasant hooks of the fascination his partner held for him.

Due to their universal translators being turned off, it took Garak and the other Cardassians a few moments to realise something had happened. It was only by reading the expressions and actions of those around them that they understood something was malfunctioning. Kira was shaking her head, as if seeking to dislodge an insect or something else of an irritating or buzzing nature; Lieutenant Dax was using her tricorder, sweeping the area, glancing back at Kira. Kira seemed to be cursing using a long and creative string of phrases, combined in new ways. Garak could hear her just about and recognised she was speaking in Bajoran. He turned his universal translator back on and was hit by a highly unpleasant squeal of feedback followed by static. Something had knocked out their translators. Garak shifted his position, his first suspicion that this was a deliberate act of sabotage and some kind of attack was imminent – his eyes fell on Kira and judging by her stance, she had reached the same conclusion as him. Julian clearly knew something had happened, either unexpected or bad (and those two were usually one and the same) but he had a patient to attend to, and so he carried on with this until his work was completed. None of them spoke, the only sound the bleeping of Lieutenant Dax's tricorder as she swept the premises. Once his patient was treated, Julian had moved neared to Garak, and he could feel that he very much wanted to ask him something but knew to wait until Lieutenant Dax's signal. She sighed and turned to them, beginning to speak, in Trill. The others all looked baffled and Lieutenant Dax realised this as her words trailed off uncertainly. Garak cleared his throat. 

“Forgive me, Lieutenant.” He began in somewhat hesitant Trill. “But the majority here do not understand your language. This is the limits of what I can communicate, though I understand most of what you're saying.” 

“You speak Trill?” Julian asked him, astonished. Oh, he did enjoy his partner's tones in Federation Standard, so clean and precise. 

“Of course he speaks Trill, Julian.” Kira snapped in her particular Bajoran dialect, which Garak was surprised that a universal translator had even been capable of processing. “And every other language imaginable, I'm sure.”

“Well, not every other one, but I thank you for the compliment.” He switched to High Bajoran. “However, I would very much like to become conversant in Breen or Dominionese, such fascinating languages.”

“You speak Bajoran?” Julian asked.

Lieutenant Dax cut across them, speaking in Trill, appearing at once frustrated and confused. 

“Right.” Kira said. “We need to try communicate with one another. Garak has us all at a disadvantage.” She had adopted a mixture of Bajoran and pidgin Cardassi; it was not the most elegant but she could make herself understood.

“You speak Cardassi?” Julian's brow was furrowed.

Kira gave him another exasperated look. “Julian, I only have a limited amount of Federation Standard but already I've learned a new sentence from what you keep repeating. I was a Bajoran under the occupation, of course I can speak Cardassi.” 

The other Cardassians appeared sceptical about this last statement but kept their counsel. Lieutenant Dax joined in, speaking an awkward Federation Standard mixed with Trill and Klingon. 

“None of my hosts learned Cardassi or Bajoran, and my memories of Standard are not the freshest. There's other languages they had but none of them are useful right now.” 

“Was that Klingon?”

Kira didn't even respond to Julian this time, just gave him a look. 

They found a stuttering rhythm, where Dax managed to put across her theory about the natural forces and energy fields on this planet which had knocked out their translators and what she could do to get them back online, for the planet, not just themselves. When Dax made recourse to Trill or Klingon, Garak would provide the Federation Standard, Bajoran, and Cardassi equivalent. As Dax began to readjust certain frequencies using her tricorder, Garak heard Kira saying to the Trill: 

“You'll have to teach me some of that language of yours another time.” 

Inwardly, Garak noted the very flirtatious tone to the Bajoran's voice. Dax seemed to pick up this aspect of it if not the content, merely by Kira's interested facial expression, the way her eyes were on her, her open stance towards her, and the Lieutenant responded in kind with an equally flirtatious and interested look, followed by another string of Trill which was when Garak thought it would be more polite to stop listening to this particular conversation. The other Cardassians remained close togehter, conversing amongst themselves; already made nervous by their recent experiences, they were more suspicious of this current situation and Garak found it understandable that they would wish to remain apart from them, even including him.

He turned to Julian. His partner was standing unnaturally, his frame very straight, a taut line in his jaw and a muscle flicking there at irregular intervals. His breathing was also unnaturally regular and controlled – he was practising his breathing exercises. This situation was stressful in the extreme to him, beyond what the other members of their party were experiencing. Garak did not quite know what was causing this and he wanted to attend to that later. Now, he wished to try bring some relief to his partner, as subtly as possible. If only they were back in their quarters where he could attend to him properly, and not under the eyes of others, particularly, other Cardassians. 

“I have always found it very strange to converse with others in a language other than the one you are accustomed to speaking with that person.” He said in Federation Standard. “It seems that once one language is established between two persons, then it is very difficult to deviate from that. Although the question of the universal translator complicates the idea of what language we believe ourselves to be hearing.” 

Julian seemed to gain little relief from his attempts at light conversation. 

“Why can you speak so many languages?” 

Garak was beginning to become a small bit irritated himself at Julian's current belligerence. He already knew why Garak could speak these languages, even if it had never been directly raised or addressed between them. To discuss this out loud, now, in front of others, was an act of obtuseness so blatant that Garak could only interpret it as being deliberate, and he had to work out to what end his partner was indulging himself in such petty behaviour. Garak took a deep breath, attempting to dissipate some of the tension he was picking up from Julian, which was combining with his tetchiness at the predicament in which they found themselves. 

“Well, I have always been loathe to read literature in translation, with no slight intended upon the ancient profession of translators, but nothing can replace the experience of reading works in their original intended form. I have often wondered if this is why non-Cardassians fail to appreciate our literature. I believe a lot is sadly lost in translation.”

“It's not normal, to speak so many languages.” Julian's tones were truly obnoxious now, childish to boot. No, he wanted to retort, it wasn't, but there was a reason why he was lumbered with this thankless ability and perhaps one day he would even be capable of telling him why. Garak's irritation rose but he took a moment before responding, considering what Julian had said, what was really underneath this mood which was fast becoming a sulk. They had drawn Kira's attention once again, as she was now at a loose end with Dax busily at work on what seemed a viable solution to their issues. She had not caught every word of their conversation, but the bits she had understood, combined with Julian's mulish expression told her enough. Oh, this was not going to help at all, Garak sighed to himself. 

“Well, maybe speaking as many languages as Garak can isn't normal but being able to speak another language or some other languages is totally normal.”

Julian looked at her, not comprehending her Bajoran at all. A few beats passed. Knowing it would not improve Julian's mood but also knowing he had to let Julian understand what had just been said, he quickly rendered the meaning of Kira's words into Federation Standard, adopting as neutral a tone as possible. Julian's reaction was instant – his expression darkened further and he tossed his head, turning away from Garak, his lips pressed into a thin line. Kira was delighted by this reaction and realisation dawned on her and Garak at roughly the same time. 

“You can't be serious!” She exclaimed in the peculiar case particular to Bajoran, a conjugation of the verb to express surprise. “You can't speak any other languages, can you? Not one! Only Federation Standard. Can't you even speak any other Terran languages, even a dead one? How can you not speak other languages?” She was thoroughly amused by this and uncharacteristically delighted by it, and Garak wondered at what lay beneath Kira's own reaction, for it struck him as gleeful in an uncharitable way he knew not to be how she regularly interacted with others.  
Julian refused to meet her gaze, and a flush had bloomed on his cheeks – he could not understand what Kira was saying but he could certainly tell that he was being mocked. Garak looked over at Dax tapping way industriously and willed her to hurry up so they could remove themselves from this situation as he was not certain he would be able to defuse it if it continued to escalate. When Dax moved closer to him, he murmured out of the corner of his mouth in Trill: “Please give her something to do.”

The Lieutenant assessed the other woman, and touched her arm, indicating she needed assistance with something; thankfully, the ploy was effective. However, the damage had already been done. Garak sought to approach Julian but his lover was unresponsive, deliberately withdrawing himself from what was taking place around him. In spite of the how irritated he was, it hurt Garak to witness Julian like this, and he experienced a strong protective instinct towards the younger man. It seemed as if Julian was somehow overwhelmed by what was taking place around him, and yet he had certainly been exposed to far more stressful situations than this one. Garak wondered where the difference lay and what was effecting him. He let Julian be, sensing that further words and input were the opposite of what he required at this time. Garak examined his face – his mouth was downturned, set and grim, at odds with the man he was accustomed to sharing his time with. Even when the Doctor was frustrated by something or reacted negatively to a situation, his countenance had not been this dark or distant. There was a sense of disconnect here. His eyes were not seeing what was happening around him, they were focused inward, on somewhere only Julian could see, a time in the past. 

Garak listened to the voices around him, the criss-crossing currents of different languages, sifting through them, enjoying this play of sounds and words. He took such pleasure in other languages (although it had not always been this way), and yet it was apparent, to him at least, that for Julian it was rather a source of shame, and even distress. Then there was a faint click and whirring, and once again, the universal translators were functioning. Lieutenant Dax's face was lit up with quiet pleasure at her own success and he heard Kira's cry of thanks to the Prophets for being able to talk easily again. 

Soon after this, they returned to the station. As they disembarked, Garak made to move towards Julian, hoping they would be able to retire to their quarters for some much needed quiet and time away from others. Instead, Julian muttered something about going to play tennis on the Holosuites and Garak watched his partner's back as he moved further away from him and through the crowd on the Promenade.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the coming days this event remained undiscussed and lay between them. Julian was muted, and easily irritated. This bruise was repeatedly pressed as Major Kira continued to find Julian's lack of foreign language skills a source of mirth and made regular references and recourse to jokes about it at his expense, seeking to use antiquated or very slangy Bajoran words that their universal translators struggled to process and sometimes were defeated by. Julian continued to brood over this and Garak knew he needed to force the issue, as gently and tactfully as he could. He waited for a relatively quiet evening (for what was a quiet evening when you were in the middle of an on-going war?). Taking two glasses, he poured a measure of kanar for himself and brandy for his partner. Julian sat on their sofa, one leg crossed, ankle resting against his knee, slouched back, focused on the padd in front of him, as he read a paper about new research on plasma burns. It was not the area of medicine of most interest to Julian, however the need to be up-to-date on treatments for such wounds was more urgent now that most of his patients were comprised of injured soldiers. Garak observed Julian for a moment, how quickly his eyes ran over the lines, never pausing, processing these great swathes of text and information with ease. He seated himself beside Julian, holding out the glass to him. He put down his padd and took the receptacle, swallowing a mouthful of the deep orange liquid. 

“I enjoy the contrast between our drinks.” Garak positioned his glass near to Julian's, the mellow amber of the brandy strikingly different to the bright blue of his kanar, their consistencies markedly dissimilar also.

“Why?”

“A fancy I have. It reminds me of the differences in our bodies, and how I enjoy those too.” He touched his free hand against the back of Julian's. His partner's expression had softened, and Garak hoped this indicated he was in a more receptive mood this evening. 

“My dear.” He began. “Have you considered how uncharacteristic Major Kira's behaviour is in regard to this incident with the universal translator?” 

Garak saw Julian's mouth tightening and he reached for his padd again, an act of rudeness he would not normally be given to. However, Garak could tell by how his eyes moved that he was not truly engaged by the words in front of him – he was seeking to give the impression of not caring and all it served to do was display more clearly to him how very wounded he was by this incident. 

“Perhaps I do not know Major Kira as well as you do.” He went on. “So, you could be better placed to tell me if I am correct in my assessment that this ungracious behaviour is not in keeping with her typical qualities?”

Though he did not relinquish his hold on the padd, it had now become redundant as he met Garak's gaze. He swirled the brandy in his glass, considering his answer.

“No.” His reply was given in a tone of certainty, and Garak could see how Julian sought to incorporate this new information into what he had believed in relation to how Major Kira had been acting. “She is a fair woman. It may not always be delivered in the quietest voice and she can be quick to judge but she is fair in her dealings with others, and I have seen her change her opinion and revise what she thought in light of circumstances changing or when the actions of others prove her to have misjudged someone.”

“Which is not something that can be said about everyone, and is to my mind a compliment and speaks to her good character. I agree with your assessment that this ungracious teasing is not fitting with her character.”

“Where are you going with this, Garak?”

“I believe that so far you have been attempting to understand Major Kira's motivations for mocking you by focusing on what you have done to provoke her. Which is, in this case, not productive, but a good effort nonetheless. Rather, you need to consider what caused her to act in such a way if we imagine you only as the indirect object of her teasing, that it is about her, and not specifically about you.” 

Julian frowned, sifting through what Garak had posited. 

“So – it's not about the fact that I can't speak another language, it's about what that gives her?” 

Garak smiled, encouraging his partner to pursue this thought further. 

“For her, it is about how I was unable to do something that she could. But why?”

“Julian. Have you ever noticed Major Kira when she has to deal with these items here?” He tapped the now abandoned padd on the sofa. 

Julian shook his head. “And you have? Why would you watch how she is with a padd?”

Garak sipped his kanar. “Oh, sociological curiosity.”

“I'm sure.”

“She is impatient with them, resents them. The Federation's manner of working is not that to which is accustomed. All this bureaucracy! She was a member of the resistance, they had no time for such trivialities and even if they did, Bajor did not have such technology available.”

A less charitable person would have used this as an opportunity to insert a comment about Cardassia's role in preventing the Bajorans from accessing such resources; Garak had already replied to himself with such a comment in his head. Julian, however, passed no remark, he simply listened to him, an expression on his face of groping towards clarity, of half-comprehension, knowing that the ultimate epiphany lay just outside his grasp. 

“So, Kira is used to knowing what's going on, being in charge, being the one making decisions, and now she is saddled with technology she struggles to master, and to her mind is foisted on her by the Federation. I don't quite see how that hangs together with the incident of the universal translator.”

“Well.” Garak inclined his head. “It is not just the technology she struggles with – I believe she struggles with the letters and words in front of her.”

Julian's eyes widened. “You mean, you believe Kira is dyslexic?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. The Federation style of text does not read well for her, I think it appears back to front or switched around in some way.”

“How can you possibly know this? I don't know this and I'm the Chief Medical Officer on this station.”

“Doctor, do not worry yourself, I have not been hacking into any files. I just happened to observe that Mrs. O'Brien and Major Kira have regular meetings which are not entirely of a social nature.”

“Wait a minute – Keiko has worked as a teacher. You've seen Keiko helping Kira in understanding the padds?”

Garak made a noise which could be interpreted as assent.

“You know she would do damage to you if she found out you had been watching her like this and that you knew this about her?” 

“Oh yes, Doctor, I am very aware of that. I took extra precautions.”

Julian fell silent for a while; Garak waited, certain his patience would pay off. It would be better if Julian could get there himself, he had already helped him along far enough. 

“Elim.” He tapped his finger against the near empty glass of brandy. “Are you telling me Kira is somehow intimidated by me?”

“Perhaps that is not precisely the word I would choose but it hits the mark near enough.”

“What word would you choose?”

“I would say certain things about you make her insecure.”

“My genetic enhancements?” 

“In part, yes. However, I think it is also the upbringing and education you had, combined with this other aspect.” He was relieved that Julian was able to discuss his augment status with him, although it was not yet without bitterness. Before, just after the forced revelation of his history, it had been a taboo subject, one which Julian could not bear to hear addressed, not even by Garak. He was slowly becoming more comfortable in talking to him about it at least. 

“She's the Bajoran resistance veteran, who is living on a Federation station. I am the product of the Federation and Starfleet and my being an augment only puts me further ahead. She is not in her natural habitat. I am in mine. She has witnessed my capacity for processing the written or printed word, and this makes her insecure. So, to learn that I am only able to speak one language, she jumped on it. It is about her. It isn't that she dislikes me.”

Garak touched his shoulder and Julian raised his hand to cover his, and he held it there for a few moments before releasing it.

“Have you never done the same as Major Kira?”

“In what way?” Julian queried. 

“Well, have you never sought to cover a sense of insecurity or uncertainty by attacking or mocking someone else?”

“Yes.” He said. “I had never thought of it so clearly in that way before. I just told myself I was being competitive. But once you say it, yes, of course I have.”

“So, it seems you instead have something further in common, rather than dividing you.”

Julian sighed, blowing air through his lips. “What am I meant to do though, Garak? Apologise? Feel sorry for her? What?”

“My dear, I don't believe you necessarily need to do anything. What would you be apologising for? Besides, do you wish to apologise to her?” 

“Not really, no.”

“Best to not do it in that case then.”

“But what was the point of all this?” 

“The point? You understand her better than you did before. New knowledge is always of value and to your advantage. You can keep it in mind as you move forward and consider it in your interactions with her.” Garak paused, hoping he would not be going too far with his next sentence. “Also, it could be of benefit to examine your own reaction to her teasing.” 

He noted how Julian assumed a more guarded position once more. “What do you mean?”

“My dearest boy, it seems that Major Kira's mocking was quite hurtful to you.”

Julian stood up abruptly and went to pour himself another measure of brandy. He remained standing, whether to gain some distance from his partner or to place himself in a physically superior position, Garak could not be certain. 

“I've often, especially when I was growing up, wished I could just opt out of having to use words. Well, I even did for a long time, up until I was six I could barely talk, before I was sent to be fixed. I wonder if I ever would have been able to talk at all if I hadn't been worked on.”

It always hurt Garak to hear Julian talk of himself, of his childhood self in this manner, to hear sentiments he had internalised from his parents and yet to be disabused of. 

“But even now, after the corrections, I'm still not at home in all these words. In a professional context, yes, because they resemble formulae more than anything else, certain information needs to be communicated and the result is determined by a defined number of conditions, so the alternatives are always limited and predicated to a degree. Outside of medicine, outside of work, that's when it becomes a bit much for me. I try to focus on the words but there seems to be a whole other conversation going on aside from the actual words and I can't grasp it.” He put his glass down, unable to meet Garak's eye, and moved around their living area, pacing briefly before coming to a standstill. “In school, before I was sent for the augment treatments, my classmates seemed to instinctively understand concepts I couldn't even begin to work out. It felt like that again when the universal translators were knocked out. There was so much information going around, and so fast, all at once, it was too much somehow and I had to stop listening at one point.” 

Garak could all too clearly see the traces of anxiety caused by this experience evident in the increased rate of Julian's breathing. His senses had been overwhelmed by the event, he noted to himself, and had caused him to withdraw. Could they avoid such events in the future, until they managed to find a way for him to cope with such sensory overload? 

Julian moved towards the shelf where Kukalaka stood to attention, regarding the room, the black beads which served as his eyes shining under the artificial light. He reached out his thumb and forefinger to rub the little bear's paw between them. 

“Elim, I know well that words, written or spoken, are your talent, and apparently you are equally talented in other languages. However, for me, I can barely make full use of the one language available to me and it only obeys under certain conditions and circumstances. Learning another language is out of the question for me. I already know that words in Standard can have so many meanings and intentions depending on a huge number of factors. The idea of attempting to learn another set of words for things I already know seems beyond me. And it – it just reminds me of how very childish and backward I am in so many things.”

“Julian, that is manifestly not true.” He stood and approached his partner. When he reached him, he placed his hand against the small of his back, rubbing his thumb back and forward repeatedly. This movement and touching Kukalaka's fur seemed to have a calming effect on Julian. 

“I mean, my reactions are childish. It – I hear my father in my head.”

“Saying what?” Garak prompted after a moment.

Julian's hazel eyes were clouded, unfocused. He stopped rubbing Kukalaka's paw and instead picked up the little bear and held him to his chest, lowering his head and pressing his nose against the top of the small creature's head. His words emerged slightly muffled but Garak could make them out. He noted a difference in Julian's voice; something told him he was repeating oft heard words, spoken to him by someone else – there was a change to Julian's tones which the universal translator could not properly render but Garak guessed that if he were to switch off the machine, he would hear that Julian's accent had changed, adopting that of the person who had said these words to him, over and over. 

“Mistakes? How can you still make mistakes like this? You know now what we had to put ourselves through to get you like this, to give you these advantages? How can you be so ungrateful, so lazy? It's the only answer as to why you make mistakes still since there's no real reason for you to now! Lazy and ungrateful. Lazy and ungrateful, lazy and ungrateful -”.

“Julian. Julian.” He said softly, pulling his partner into his arms, wanting to break him out of this memory. It took a few minutes before he felt Julian sigh against him, releasing some of the tension in his frame. Now he could respond to the embrace, curling his fingers in the fabric of his tunic, the other hand still safely holding Kukalaka. 

“Your father would not allow you to make mistakes?”

“No. Especially once I found out about what they had done to me. To his mind, I no longer had an excuse. So, I learned that it was a bad thing to do, to be found out to be wrong, to not know something. It became a double-edged sword for him because I used it against him. If I ever caught him making a mistake or saying something I knew was incorrect, I was merciless in attacking him for it. He would double down and fly into such a rage, arguing with me even when I was clearly right.” Garak felt the anger vibrating in Julian's body as he spoke these words. “He didn't like it when I used his own logic against him like that. I was superior to him in this manner and he couldn't take it, even though he was the one who made me the way I am now.”

“I would dispute that, my dear.” Garak murmured. Even though Julian was taller than him, he had somehow tucked himself up in Garak's embrace, head resting on his shoulder. Richard Bashir, it seemed, had managed to force his own worst traits on his son – arrogance and inflexibility, an inability to be wrong. Small wonder that Julian had reacted so negatively to Major Kira mocking him for not being able to speak another language – it had taken him straight back to the cold heart of his childhood. And yet. And yet – Garak believed that Julian was not as limited a man as Richard Bashir and he also believed that some, if not a great deal, of Jules remained in his partner, though he might not be able to perceive this. He had been told so many times by his father what he was and was not, what he was allowed and not allowed to be, becoming a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. In some ways, Garak pondered whether learning another language would indeed be a way to address this unfortunate legacy. But this was something he would have to give very careful thought to, for it could backfire badly on him if not approached in the right manner. Something else struck Garak and he pulled back slight in order to be able to look at Julian.

“However, there was one occasion when you did indeed make a significant mistake.”

A bitter smile twisted Julian's features – the level of resentment behind it was powerful. “The postganglionic nerve. My father learnt then that there is actually another excuse aside from laziness and ingratitude for making a mistake, even as a freak augment.” Garak held his tongue but resolved in the future that he would have to also find a way of helping Julian to dismantle these thoughts about his genetically enhanced status. “Spite.” Julian said, defiance in his voice. 

“Well. That is as good a reason as any.”

“And I chose it. I made the conscious decision to put the wrong answer in my exam. Because damn him, that's why, damn him!” His voice had become harsh, but after this outburst, it dropped to a resigned whisper. “But the only problem with that motivation, Elim, is that it is very tiring in the long run.”

Garak put his hand against Julian's cheek and stroked it; he covered his hand with his own and turning his head and lifting their hands, pressed a kiss to the inside of Garak's wrist. 

They prepared for bed in silence, but as they lay in the darkened room, Julian's head on his chest, he snorted softly. 

“Would you care to let me know what is so amusing to you, my dear?”

“Oh, it's just – well, I think my father would hate the idea of my bothering to learn a foreign language.”

“Indeed?” That seemed a strange stance, even for such a limited and self-centred person as Richard Bashir. 

“You have to remember, Garak, Earth at one time resembled Cardassia a great deal. There were stratified class systems and these were compounded by xenophobia. As much as he approves of the status of having a son in Starfleet, he never reconciled himself to its core belief of diversity. But he doesn't believe in it, not really. He likes the idea of Starfleet being a group of elites, carefully selected special individuals. He hates difference – clearly. And though it has long not been an issue on Earth, my father hates the origins of our family, any reminder that our ancestors were ever perceived as other and were subjected to prejudice due to this. To his mind, foreign languages were not just a waste of time but to him, to learn a foreign language was to admit you were less than elite. It was a rejection of everything other than the norm, the standard, a refusal to recognise those roots in us.”

“Your father seems very gifted at maintaining many contradictory beliefs at once.”

“In my father's world, if he doesn't like the reality, he just changes it or ignores it, or if all else fails, he finds someone else to blame.” He sighed. “The problem is, though I of course don't agree with my father's motivations in rejecting everything that is different or foreign -”.

“Clearly.” Garak purred, eliciting an amused sound from his lover. 

“But unfortunately, I did learn from him that there are some things which are not worth learning. I know it's not true, but I haven't managed to shake it yet. He made this judgement based on value and use. And though I don't subscribe to that, I know myself there are areas I'm just completely uninterested in and so it was helpful to use my father's reasons when I needed to justify my ignorance on certain things to my classmates or colleagues.”

Garak had on occasion cause to be taken aback by the things Julian had little to no knowledge on, but he had never commented on it. History, for one. Languages, apparently. Literature was another. Although they were making splendid progress with that. 

“I did manage to pick up his judgements about what is worth spending my time on – something I need to get past one day.”

“Julian.” Garak said. “If you wanted to learn a language, there is no reason why you couldn't.” 

He would later repeatedly berate himself for failing to consider how Julian understood this sentence and not having better clarified what he meant by it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene took some inspiration from Andy Robinson's "The Nexus".  
> Also, the inspiration for the section about Kira came from a tumblr post I saw some time ago from a now deactivated account that I can't find again.


	3. Chapter 3

Garak awoke the next morning, the sounds of Julian moving around their quarters bringing him out of his slumber. He remained on his side, observing Julian, not yet signalling to his partner that he was awake. He had thrown on a dressing down made from light, soft material in jewel tones of red and blue; these shades complemented Julian's colouring beautifully and Garak looked on in pleasure at how the loose-hanging garment moved, how it alternately draped and uncovered his limbs. Julian stopped his purposeful movements and seated himself in an armchair across from the bed; Garak lifted his blue eyes to meet brown ones, which were now tinged by the heat of realising his partner had been covertly watching him and very much enjoying this viewing. 

“You are a terrible voyeur, Elim.” 

Garak sat up against his pillows. 

“I am not the one putting on such a display.” 

Julian smiled in a way that made Garak feel heat surging to his neck ridges unbidden. 

“A display, hm?” Julian undid the loosely knotted belt at his waist, allowing the robe to fall open, the material sliding off his thighs. He adored his partner's body but he did have a particular weakness for his legs – they were lithe and endlessly long, their angles and lines so perfectly pleasing to his eye, their softness maddening. He loved to grasp his thighs, palping his flesh, or to explore this area with his tongue, planting kisses along the length of them. One of his favourite positions was to sit or lie with Julian in such a way that he could rest his hands on his thighs, idly stroking or touching them as he read or talked with his lover, feeling their warmth beneath his fingertips. Particularly sensuous to him was when they were in such a position and Julian would wear a robe, like the one he had on currently, as Garak would then be able to slip his fingers under the material, which provided an extra frisson of eroticism to him, watching his hand disappear under the robe, moving under it, the combined sensation of the soft fabric and Julian's thighs filling his senses. 

Julian allowed his robe to fall from his shoulders. “Are you thinking about touching me, love? About previous times when you've touched me?” 

Garak remained silent, realising Julian was in one of his playful moods. Once he had realised how much pleasure his partner took in the act of observing, he had experimented with various poses and positions, trying to see how close he could push Garak to the edge without even touching him. The younger man perhaps had a more active and direct sex drive; Elim's, by contrast, was more a lowly smouldering bed of embers which could be stoked up. Though Julian was the one partner he had felt the most comfortable with, to a certain degree he remained unsure about this area of himself. Julian seemed to have a more uncomplicated relationship with his physical desires, whereas Garak was still unable to fully explore this aspect of himself, even within this relationship. It would happen that Julian would do something which Garak had scarcely allowed himself to consider before, let alone enact, and he would find himself beset by conflicting sensations and emotions, shocked by his body's primitive reactions, shocked at the things which he found arousing, tinged with fear and not quite shame but a sense of worry about what it meant that he took pleasure in such things. On one occasion, Julian had pinned him against the wall, flush against his back as he ran his lips over his neck ridges from behind; he had his wrists held in his grip, and with the side of his face pressed against the wall, Garak had been swept by such forceful waves of deep pleasure he had felt weak, wanting to surrender to Julian, indeed, he wanted to ask him to go harder, not knowing quite what he meant by this. But then another part of him had kicked up, panicked about the position he was in, how could he allow this to happen, how could he be brought to the state of everting whilst still clothed, how could he lose himself so completely to sensations which under other circumstances brought about fear and terrible childhood memories? What would it be like to be Julian, to be so at ease in such adventures and explorations?  
The aftermath of these moments left him feeling a coward, as if he had failed somehow to match his lover. He was then sorry for Julian to be shackled with a sexual partner like him, he wanted to give him more, everything, but he simply could not. However, it seemed Julian saw these internal struggles and without directly commenting on them somehow adapted his approaches to this partner. Garak understood then that part of his display this morning was a way for Julian to demonstrate his appreciation for what had transpired between them last night. Julian wanted to give him something, and he knew that this voyeuristic game brought his partner great pleasure and in a manner that he was most as ease with. Garak wondered if, and hoped that, one day he would be able to meet his partner equally in this area; for as much as he enjoyed these more voyeuristic encounters, he was still somewhat ambivalent about why he was so comfortable with sexual intimacy in this manner. 

But for the moment he sought to focus on the sight before him as Julian put his feet up on the edge of his armchair, his legs raised and spread so indecently, and somehow simultaneously, so elegantly, his hard cock on display. Garak could only watch, as if mesmerised, as Julian ran his hands over his own thighs, his fingers moving further, trailing over his cock, deeper between his legs, his eyes lazily focused on his partner, dulled with arousal, making sure Garak knew these touches were being performed for him, were being done as he thought of him. Garak moved to remove his restrictive nightwear, to touch his weeping slit, but a sharp word from Julian stopped him. 

“You can only watch, Elim, you're not allowed to touch yourself unless I say so. You can only watch.” Julian had taken his cock in hand and was moving his fist up and down its length, finding a rhythm for his strokes. Garak felt further slickness escaping from him at Julian's words and gestures. His lover moaned as he continued to touch himself but these sounds became deeper when he looked at Garak and he realised such was his arousal that Julian could see the evidence of it staining through his garments, which brought a strange heat to his cheeks, part of him wishing Julian would continue to talk to him as he had before, to draw attention to his lack of control, another part of him was flustered if not horrified at these thoughts. He saw beads of precum pearling from Julian's cock, spilling across his fingers, leaving his skin glistening obscenely. The scent in their quarters had become heavier now, and Garak inhaled it. He not only kept his hands firmly at his sides and where Julian could see them, he sought to remain as still as possible although he had not said he could not move at all. Julian seemed to have understood what Garak was doing, as he cursed then, his hand moving faster on his cock. Sometimes, Garak thought, particularly during intimate moments such as this, they could read each other so clearly without once opening their mouths. Garak's scales were tight with over-stimulation and the need for release or even to just be touched at this stage. With a cry, Julian came, his cum coating his hand liberally, dripping across his thighs, and unless he had consciously held himself back, Garak would have given voice to some very undignified noises at this sight. Julian lay in the chair, spent, his chest rising and falling quickly. Garak would never tire of looking at this man. The air began to be permeated by the scent of Julian's cum, further intensifying Garak's sensations.  


"Remove your clothes, Elim." He quickly complied, ensuring he only touched his own skin as little possible, only to remove his attire. Then Julian was on him, finally, his fingers tips following the lines of his slit, teasing him, before moving over his slick member, circling and stroking the ridges he found there. Garak focused on Julian's face, still keeping his hands at his sides, not even able to say what was possessing him to act in this manner. 

“You've been so good. Are you going to cum for me, love?” Julian whispered. He increased the pace of his strokes and Garak was indeed near to climax. “I can feel you're going to cum for me. But what -”. Julian swallowed thickly. “What if I told you that you couldn't? What if you weren't allowed until I said so, hm?” Julian did not cease his ministrations, not following through with the actions to match his words but the thought had been spoken into life and planted in Garak's mind, and without warning his orgasm overtook him, and he felt his body spasming in waves of pleasure as he came with Julian's hand on him. Only then did his partner bend down to kiss him.  
His body felt wonderfully slack and a pleasant lassitude filled him. They lay together for a few moments, content. Then their responsibilities reasserted themselves as Garak's sense of time creeped back and he realised he had to open his shop quite soon, and that the Doctor remained on call until further notice due to the war. After showering, they parted ways for the working day but Garak's mind replayed certain moments from their morning together, over and over, in particular Julian's directions to him which verged on orders, and that one teasing suggestion as Garak had neared his climax. He played with these thoughts, approaching them and darting away again, not quite able to allow himself to fantasise about their logical development and conclusion.

-

Over the coming days, Garak watched with growing concern as he realised Julian had taken on the task of learning a foreign language. Something in his partner's approach and behaviour left him uneasy and he could not quite put into words yet as to why. His message to Julian had broken down somewhere and he did not know how to broach this or what to say. His comment to Julian about learning another language had been intended as a liberation, a desire to hand agency to Julian and help him neutralise the power which Richard Bashir continued to wield over him. Garak could understand this too well – he was unsure if he would ever be entirely free from the effect his own father had had on him. He also knew of the pleasure he took in speaking or understanding other languages and he had wished that if he wanted it, that one day in the future Julian too would be able to enjoy this, to be freed from the negative associations which were bound up with this enterprise for him. A small part of him, which he barely acknowledged, held onto a sentimental notion, that perhaps one day Julian would wish to learn Cardassi. The image of Julian being able to understand him directly in his native language filled him with a warmth and sense of completion. 

But the current situation did not feel right to Garak. Firstly, Julian had made the unexpected choice of learning Bajoran. It was not that Garak was disappointed Julian had not chosen to learn Cardassi (a foolish fancy, he put it down to); it was rather that he could not understand why he had selected this language. It seemed to have been a decision made on the spot; Bajoran had practical advantages, certainly, considering the station's position and their contact with the planet's citizens. But Julian had, to his knowledge, not expressed any previous desire to deeply engage with Bajoran culture. He hoped that it was not a motive born of pettiness, to learn to be conversant in the language of the woman who had recently mocked him for not being able to speak any other foreign languages. The second cause for his unease was how Julian hid his studying from him. He did not want to share this learning experience with Garak, and he wondered if his partner was aware of the importance of learning in Cardassian culture, but also, the erotic elements attached to it. On Cardassia the very act of learning and study was a charged act and experience – the exchange of knowledge, learning from one another, together, moments of epiphany and understanding, cloistered privately. Some Cardassians found aesthetic education most intimate, the pursuit of beauty, the tactile aspects of creating art, the intention of the work to arouse sensation in the consumer or viewer. However, for Garak, learning languages, and by extent, studying literature, always held the greatest intimacy – to be with someone as they learned to form these new sounds and words, engaged in dialogue, the tangible aspects, visual, oral, and aural of striving to express oneself in a new language, the vulnerability of exposing themselves to another in such a process, sharing this system of symbols together. It was one of the most sublime experiences he knew of. How had Julian not experienced this during their lunches and discussions of literature? Many times, even before they had entered into a closer relationship, Garak had experienced a frisson as he read the novel Julian had pressed on him for their next lunch date, lying in bed with the lights pleasantly dimmed, thinking of the other man as he held the padd. How could he now not understand that learning a language fell into the same category as this experience?  
Instead, Julian made a secret of his studies, refusing to share it with his partner. He did not know how to question the younger man about his behaviour, as the whole issue had been loaded from the very first and he hesitated each time an opportunity to discuss it presented itself. He was concerned Julian was going to learn in secret, hidden from him, until he was able to converse in the language fully, until he had mastered it, until he was able to express himself in Bajoran without making mistakes. 

This thought weighed on him as it seemed to be the key indication that Julian had misunderstood what Garak had meant when saying Julian could learn a language if he wished to. Mistakes. He did not want to make mistakes, he could not, the voice of his father always in his head. He remained uneasy as the days passed, becoming more and more convinced this pursuit was going to end badly, as badly as the incident of the malfunctioning universal translators. His concerns grew as he recognised the particular monomania Julian could be prone to taking hold in relation to this challenge his partner had set himself. For it was a challenge in Julian's mind, this much was obvious, the opposite of what Garak had hoped for, he had wanted for his partner to be able to engage with learning in a different manner, where learning was to be enjoyed and shared; not quite the level of 'hobby', but something pleasurable to spend his free time on without ascribing it value judgements, turning it into a competition against himself and driven by whatever residual internalised memories and messages he had from his family. Julian's fixations were mostly positive, Garak would maintain, in spite of others' reactions to them or to him. His incredible focus – a natural quality, Garak believed, only enhanced by the augment treatments, not created by them, though he knew Julian would not be able to accept this – when his interest was piqued was a thing of joy to watch, and for Garak , it was quite arousing to bear witness to the Doctor's fierce concentration, his ability to dive into an interest or new medical experiments and research. This time, however, he used the word 'monomania' consciously to describe it, to differentiate it from these pursuits. It seemed precisely that – singular and a mania. It was negative, as if some great pressure was driving Julian rather than a pure interest, desire, or fascination. This focus was not a deepening of knowledge or expertise, it was not an expansion, it was a narrowing, Julian's world becoming a blinkered existence – his mind was never not on this challenge, even though he did not speak of it to Garak. During meals he had no conversation to offer his partner, his mind permanently elsewhere. He neglected not only his relationship with Garak but also his friends and other interests. Chief O'Brien had mentioned how Julian had not played darts with him or partaken in their latest holosuite re-enactments, he had not even been available to have a pint at Quark's. He knew the Chief was telling him this because he was confused as to what was going on with his friend and what he could have done to cause such a reaction, wondering if Garak was aware of this cause for concern. Oh, he very much was but as each day passed, he was at a loss as to how to change the course Julian had set upon. 

A darkness settled over Garak, at the realisation of how he still did not know Julian enough to be able to help him with such struggles or to avoid triggering such instances. He thought of his Doctor's quiet kindness towards patients, his insistent gentleness with his own partner when needed, and Garak felt further despair at how he had stumbled into failing Julian in being able to reciprocate this. What remained to be seen was how badly wrong he had managed to go with him. 

-

Tensions came to a head one evening when Julian returned to their quarters after a particularly long day at the infirmary. Garak looked up from his padd; he had been reading a new enigma tale, hoping to distract himself from the gnawing unease which had begun to follow him unceasingly. If he was not yet equal to understanding his partner, he could turn his mind at least to cracking the mystery of this latest Cardassian tale, a poor substitute in this instance.

Julian set aside his bag and equipment carelessly, moving quickly into the bedroom, changing out of his uniform, his movements staccato, tense with nervous energy. Garak had noticed the increase of physical tics in his partner over the past week; it had begun with foot-tapping and leg-jiggling, fast, repeated, extended. Then he had begun to pull at this hair, tugging and yanking it in a manner which did not look pleasant to Garak. The latest manifestation was a rocking back and forth. Garak had been witness to Julian's tics and habits before, but these were different, in their intensity and and frequency alone. The context was also distinct – these seemed to be stress-induced, an extension of the negative monomania his partner had fallen into. He had seen Julian bouncing on his feet before or becoming very demonstrative with his hands but these actions had never been a cause of concern to him for they occurred in tandem with Julian being particularly deep in enjoyment of something, whether work or play. Furthermore, he found the actions themselves to make a charming picture and he took pleasure in being able to observe his partner when he was so completely immersed and in the moment. These new tics spoke of frayed nerves, exhaustion, and even an anxiety, a defensiveness and these issues could not all be ascribed to the stress of the ever-present Dominion war and the toll it was taking on them all. 

Julian stood before him, his body vibrating with energy. Garak kept a mild expression on his face and in his tone of voice. 

“My dear. Would you care to join me?” He indicated to the space beside him, hoping he could somehow bring Julian down from this apparent negative high he was on. Julian shook his head several times. 

“No, no, Elim, Elim! I can do it now, I can do it.” 

“Do what?” He enquired, his heart sinking. The man who stood before him was in the throes of something and it had caused his adult self to disappear, instead he was confronted by the child, the young Jules who had been made aware he was defective in the eyes of others, and how at great sacrifice to themselves, they had (to their mind) fixed him, and now he had to always, always be worthy of that. Was he even seeing Garak properly in this moment? Where was Julian right now? And how could he have allowed this situation to become as bad as it had? 

Garak put down his padd and rose to stand in front of Julian. He did not even prompt him this time, but rather waited for the culmination of this unfortunate endeavour. 

“I can speak Bajoran now, I've learned it, I can do it now.” He turned off his universal translator and indicated for Garak to do the same. He complied, mutely. 

And with that, he launched into a fast stream of Bajoran. Garak could understand him, yes, but it had no discernible reference to anything and was most certainly not part of a dialogue or conversation, it was a rushing, babbling recitation of various sentences, declensions, lists, quotations from certain texts, even bits of instructions or directions, prayers to the Prophets; Garak was experiencing whiplash even just listening to him. His Bajoran was fine, his pronunciation mostly correct but the expression was wrong; indeed, it was absent. Bajoran laid its stress on the strong vowel in a word and Julian missed this each time, giving it a monotonous tone. Bajoran was supposed to be a lilting, expressive language, its rising and falling sounds, its elongated vowels, to Garak's mind, evoking the wide undulating terrain of the planet, its wild green expanses, its intense colours. This instead was an unrelenting barrage and he wondered what Julian had felt as he had forced himself to learn the language in this manner. There could have been no joy in this, only compulsion. He felt so very far away from his beloved at this moment, and raged against his helplessness in the face of this onslaught. 

He tried to interrupt Julian, initially using Bajoran, then returned to Federation Standard when he received no reaction or acknowledgement from his partner. Garak was genuinely apprehensive now. Julian had worked himself up to such a high pitch, there was a strange look in his overly-bright eyes, and Garak realised that at some point, he had stopped saying words, he had stopped speaking Bajoran, he was now reciting numbers in Standard, over and over, the same string repeated, and some of the digits seemed familiar to him although he could not place where he knew them from. It was imperative now that he bring Julian down, he had fallen into a state where Garak feared he could not reach him. 

“Julian.” He said, not wanting to shout but needing to sound firm enough in order to make his voice heard over Julian's frenzied recitation. “Julian. Julian!” He called to him and in desperation took him by the shoulders and shook him, not too hard but with some force. That too failed to bring Julian out of this state and not knowing what else to do, Garak gathered his partner into his arms, holding him in a tight embrace, whispering in his ear, even rocking him back and forth. At first, Julian resisted his hold, and fought against him, trying to wriggle out from his grip, but Garak kept firm, and after a few moments his movements stilled and his compulsive litany of numbers cut off. 

Their quarters were now quiet in an unnatural manner after this all-encompassing and unrelenting attack. All Garak could perceive was his own ragged breathing which he had not yet brought back under control. Julian was silent, all that indicated his distress was the hammering of his heart which Garak felt with him pressed up against his chest like this. Julian's arms slackened, falling awkwardly to his sides, hanging lifeless. As he felt the other man begin to sway in his arms, Garak realised in time that Julian's legs were also about to give way under him and he managed to hold him up, with some difficulty. He had not known what to expect in the immediate aftermath of this fit (or break, he did not know what to term it) but he had prepared himself for the continuation of the frenzied behaviour to which he had just been witness, a violent reaction, taken out on the nearest figure to hand, in this case, Garak. Instead it seemed the Doctor was falling into a severe form of shock. He managed to manoeuvre himself and the other man into their sleeping quarters and towards their bed where he carefully deposited him. After loosening his clothes and removing his shoes, he covered him with a blanket, and leaving him for only a brief moment, replicated some sugary tea and collected some water. He sat on the bed facing the Doctor, and a cold fear prickled at his scales. There was something deeply wrong. This did not, in his layman's experience, appear to be consistent with how a typical case of shock presented. It was the slackness of his partner's face and limbs which caused him this concern. Julian was further away than ever, his eyes staring dully into some empty half-distance, his mouth open slightly, his chin tucked towards his chest. Garak had expected his partner to become beset by tremors, that he would need to be kept warm, to have his blood sugar levels stoked up again. Something in him told him to not contact the infirmary; he could not justify his reaction based on medical knowledge, only what his instinct was telling him about his partner. He remained in the grip of a roiling anxiety which he sought to keep in check by engaging in tasks, no matter how meaningless they were. He changed his position, and supporting Julian's neck, brought the cup of sweetened tea to his lips, hoping this would help, if only for the comforting sensation of a warm drink. Julian was incapable of consuming it, the liquid ran out of his mouth, spilling over himself and Garak. He set the cup down and attended to cleaning them up. Julian had not reacted to anything going on around him. 

“Julian.” He said, his voice rasping. Nothing. He attempted to make eye contact with him but there was nothing for his eyes to connect with, they could not connect with the lifeless brown eyes before him, no matter how long he persisted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration again from Andy Robinson's "The Nexus" and from Una McCormack's "Enigma Tales".


	4. Chapter 4

Irrational panic began to crawl across his scales, itching him, his chest suddenly restricted. Their quarters were too small and the windows only granted a view of endless blackness, and it paradoxically had the opposite effect, the boundlessness of space with few distinguishable features to latch onto served to make Garak feel even more alone, more stuck, more powerless. He tried to catch himself before he lost control, for he would be of no use at all to Julian then; oh, the damned breathing exercises, he was always so self-conscious about how he must look as he engaged in them but this time his concern with appearances was minor. Once he had brought his mind sufficiently under his bidding once more, he focused on Julian. He continued to remain in this state, unchanged. No matter how bad this seemed from the outside, Garak reasoned with himself, this reaction indicated Julian needed this, that his mind was protecting itself, and was looking for a way to care for and heal itself. Just be grateful you were the one with him when this occurred and you were safely in your quarters, away from the eyes of others. He could fully care for and protect the Doctor in this private setting. The image of Julian during the incident with the universal translator rose up in his mind; he had similarly been overwhelmed, and tense with the excess of input, and he had not only withdrawn from them all physically, he had mentally withdrawn, not engaging with Garak or those around him. Granted, it hadn't been to the same extreme as now, but this then indicated, Garak extrapolated, that this was a kind of coping mechanism his partner had recourse to, whether voluntary or not. It had likely happened before in his life, to differing degrees, Garak had just not yet encountered his partner in such a situation which set it off in this strong a manner. Should he talk to Julian? Or should he leave him in peace? Would it be advisable to attempt physical contact with him? He just did not know. He needed to accept, for the moment, that Julian's mind and body understood innately what he needed, and though it was frightening for Garak, he would return to him once he had recovered and felt safe enough to do so.

Until then, he needed to ensure his partner remained secure and undisturbed. How long would it take? A few hours, he wanted to hazard, a night at most. But how could he say this with any degree of conviction? He was only making assertions which were manageable for him – he could not allow himself to imagine Julian would remain in this state for an extended period. Oh, cursed Bajoran, and universal translators, and fool on him for not being more careful with his throwaway comments, look at what had come from that. There was no-one for him to blame, the two persons present were just himself and Julian and he wished he were able to attack someone for this event right now but this was not feasible. Since it was not Julian's fault, he had only himself to berate over his mishandling of it all.

However, a part of him understood it was not directly his fault – yes, his words had been taken the wrong way and Julian had fallen into a very distressing situation but this meant the root lay elsewhere, and Garak hazarded a guess it was in his childhood, his parents' selfish actions and manipulative influence, his unprocessed feelings about his augment status, and about what he had been before this, what he was now.

Garak examined the man before him. Julian was neither asleep, nor awake it seemed; he was suspended, and at a remove. To Julian, Garak may as well not be there, he realised. The thought of the man he loved being so alone inside himself cut him, and he wished fervently that he could follow Julian to wherever he was and hold out his hand to him, to be a source of light in the dark for him.

“Our roles are reversed now, are they not, my dear?” He said. “Once you watched over me as I came off the effects of that insidious drug. I hope I can attend to you as well as you took care of me, for I was certainly not a model patient.”

He returned the tea and water to the replicator, and reseated himself beside Julian, now with a glass of ice chips; worrying that he was thirsty and unable to communicate this, or perhaps currently even unable to feel this need, Garak held the ice to his lips at regular intervals, ensuring the melted droplets were caught in his mouth and consumed. It was a laborious process but Garak certainly had time and he found it somehow calming. There was little else he could do for Julian currently and at least he could provide him with this one small act. Unable to focus on anything else, Garak remained at Julian's side, listening and watching for any change in his condition. He was still convinced he had made the correct decision in not bringing Julian to the infirmary – something told him that in his state he would have been distressed even further by the setting reminiscent of where he had been subject to the augment treatments. What a terrible tension the Doctor must live with, he thought, to work daily in an infirmary, a place similar to what had been such a dark experience in his childhood, for Jules.

“Don't we all live with our contradictions.” He murmured.

Perhaps Julian had learnt how to compartmentalise those associations in order to pursue his vocation in medicine. Garak himself was still plagued by mixed emotions, to say the least, when his mind turned to botany and cultivating plants, an interest that had never left him. Were words themselves, his very ability to process and apply his knowledge something ambivalent for Julian? To be met constantly and inescapably with the result of his parents' treachery and human failure? How did Julian regard his own reflection? If that was what he struggled with on a daily basis then it was all too understandable how his mind became overwhelmed.

The hour had grown late and there was no change yet in Julian's condition. Garak was beginning to wilt and knew he would need to retire to bed himself soon. He was concerned now for Julian's comfort and allowed himself only a few moments to consider what needed to be done in this area. His Doctor had had to tend to him at his lowest moment, bring him through when he was physically incapacitated and unable to care for himself; Julian had not even hesitated, even through the painful haze of the drug leaving his system and his body readapting itself to life without it, Garak had been aware of Julian's administrations. He was not as practiced in the art of such care as his partner was but he had little choice unless he wanted to engage the services of nurses by alerting the infirmary. He took a secure hold of Julian and carefully proceeded with him to the bathroom to prepare him for bed. He had not before attended to his love in such an intimate manner but he found he was able to discharge his care with efficiency, to assist him with these personal functions, knowing that Julian was completely reliant on him at this moment. They returned to bed, with no change in Julian still. He arranged him with care, so that he lay in a secure position. Taking up his usual place beside him, he kept the flat of his hand on his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath his palm, the regular rise and fall as he inhaled and exhaled. After having the lights shut off, they lay together in the dark. Garak found himself thinking of the time when the nature of their friendship had changed, and had made the depth of their feelings for one another clear. It had been in the aftermath of Garak's recovery from the implant.

_The key thing was to pick up his old routines on the station as quickly as possible, the external appearance of unchanging order covering over what irrevocable shifts had taken place in his self-understanding and others' perception of him – or in this case, one particular man's perception of him. The bustle of the promenade and the amount of light and noise and the sheer physicality of all those bodies around him was a lot to take in, particularly without the kindly filter of the implant between him and them. He gripped his tray, which carried food he did not very much want to consume, and approached the table where the Doctor sat, lost in concentration, his lunch neglected. When he registered Garak before him, his face flickered with myriad complicated and conflicting emotions and reactions. This was already the first change, he thought as he took his place, making polite pleasantries in regards to the food. His feelings about me were not complicated before, he mused with a touch of wistfulness. His feelings had been gloriously uncomplicated – he had been utterly unequal to him, fascinated with a kind of youthful admiration Garak found intoxicating. Julian's eyes were incapable of dissimulation and seducing this man would have been easy if he had just been more forward about it, he could have easily done it. And yet he had not. Something had held him back. Oh, if only he had, for now it was too late, the seduction would not be the same after what they had been through together. It would have been easy, physical, simple, a conquest of such a lovely, lovely creature. He was still beyond lovely to him but for the first time, Garak was a little apprehensive meeting him, he felt somehow jittery at sitting across from Julian._

_“How's the I'danian spice pudding?” He was indignant, disbelieving, and yet, that certain quality, that tone to their exchanges remained in his words, the playfulness, the thrust and approach, the dance steps. Garak had led before, controlling all their moves, now Julian would be his partner, able to match him – if Garak could accept it. The sallies and jabs of their conversation were on two different levels now and Julian was party to both of them – he was aware of what Garak was doing and he played along. Garak did not feel patronised by it. He felt exposed, that Julian would engage in these games, knowing them for what they were, and knowing that Garak was aware that he knew he knew. Indeed, he had not conceived of the possibility of finding in Doctor Julian Bashir a more than worthy partner. Perhaps, he hazarded, not wanting to allow himself to hope, but perhaps there was a chance that the definite shift in the dynamics of their relationship would be something to welcome. If Julian's blind admiration was gone, it had been replaced by an evident fondness, a fondness which could only come from knowing someone intimately. If his ability to be manipulated by Garak no longer existed, he instead now had someone he could genuinely lean on for support. This was not where he had expected to end up._

_“But was any of it true?”_

_And he gave him the most genuine response he could make, that it was all true, and he hoped this version of Julian understood what that meant. If his life had been based on lies and half-truths, if his work was in manipulating facts and feelings, if his own thoughts had been formed by deceptions, if his previous relationships had resulted in deceptions, if his reality had for so long been filtered by the illusions of a drug, then yes, yes it was all true, and especially the lies, for that was what he had lived for so long, that was what his planet had given him, further compounded by his upbringing and experiences with others._

_He selection of “Meditations on a Crimson Shadow” had not been coincidental, and he once again hoped Julian would be able to perceive what Garak wished to tell him through this gift. This was the legacy of his people, their literature. It was not just the creation of stories – these authors believed themselves entitled to create the potential future of their planet, to write their future history, such illusions of grandeur. They were fully convinced the world around them was theirs to be made biddable, and they treated everything in this manner. This novel was not whimsical speculation, it was the distillation of the God complex ordinary as well as elite Cardassians were taken in by. But the irony lay in how Cardassia's current state so greatly differed from what was envisioned in the novel. It was not a peace offering to the Doctor, nor was it a rejection of his people; it was an admittance that he was beginning to comprehend some of the influence his society and father had had on him, and that he may never end it, or even embark truly on this process of reconciliation. But he had at least taken this one step and he understood he could no longer seek to mould Julian to his Cardassian will._

_A few days after this lunch, Julian invited Garak to his quarters that evening, as he had finished reading the book and wished to discuss it with him, feeling he lacked certain contexts to full appreciate it. Garak had accepted and dressing with even more care than usual, he had joined the Doctor in his quarters. Julian handed Garak a glass of kanar, already detailing his impressions of the novel as he did so; after some time of receiving no response, he had broken off._

_“Garak?” He was concerned, the dangers the implant had posed still fresh in his mind. “Garak, are you feeling alright?” He set down his brandy hurriedly, spilling some of it from his glass in his hurry to grab his tricorder._

_“Doctor.” Garak interrupted him, his hand instinctively shooting out to hold his wrist and stop him. “Doctor, I am perfectly well. I apologise for my inattentiveness.”_

_Julian stilled but an expression of concern remained on his face._

_“I -”. Garak looked at the younger man, and understood that this would be the completion of the progression of this stage in their relationship, and if he did not make this step, then he would remain an incomplete man._

_“Though I am physically now in good health, I find there are other consequences of life post-implant which I had not considered and for which I was not prepared.”_

_Julian retrieved his glass and took up position beside Garak where he stood. He found he could not remain seated for this._

_“The implications of my abuse of the implant became clear in an unsettling manner. If I have spent the past extended period of my life under its influence, this implies that my judgement was unquestionably compromised. I needed to revisit and reassess the judgements and decisions I have made, as well as -”. He hesitated for the briefest beat. “- as well as the attachments I have made. I was concerned that waking back into my life without the implant blurring it, I would be faced with the consequences of actions and choices undertaken whilst I was in many ways incapacitated.”_

_Julian's expression had changed, suffused with a warmth which Garak had been on the receiving end of a few times before and wished he could feel this warmth every day._

_“I have never heard you talk like this before, Garak.”_

_Garak kept his features mild before replying. “Doctor. Would you please do me the honour of addressing me as 'Elim'?”_

_Julian tipped his head upwards, a smile lighting up his features. “I will, Elim, and I hope you will return it.”_

_“I will learn to.”_

_They stood in expectant silence for a few moments. Julian took a mouthful of his drink – Garak noted how his Adam's apple moved as he swallowed, how he licked his lips afterwards, catching any stray beads of the amber liquid. His perceptions had intensified greatly ever since coming off the implant, he experienced his surroundings in such high resolution now, in contrast to the blurred and numbed pleasantness of before, all the sharp edges rubbed off but with that, also their details._

_“And what did you find?” Julian asked in a low voice. “Did you regret anything? Or see anything in a new light?”_

_“There were no real regrets.” He had to stop himself from using Julian's title, which the other man noticed and smiled at, amusement in his eyes. “Rather, my concerns were that I would look upon certain figures, and without the implant, would be forced to recognise that I had erred in my perception of them, that my feelings would be changed or weakened by this, that the relationship would be changed.”_

_“Would change in a negative way?”_

_“Indeed, in a negative way, that was the fear.”_

_“And?”_

_“Well, I found instead myself to be pleasantly surprised, which is a rare enough occurrence in my life, I can tell you.”_

_Julian took a step closer to Garak, a look of delight on his face, and could it be excitement he read in those eyes? Whatever it was, the mixture had a potent effect on Garak._

_“For example, Elim, what about our relationship? Was your opinion of me changed since you have been free of the implant's influence?”_

_Garak drew himself up to his full height, still shorter than Julian, meeting his gaze whilst inwardly he experienced something he initially read as panic but he knew that the Doctor did not warrant such a reaction, for had he not proved a hundred times over the past few days he was to be trusted, to be relied upon even? If Julian had ever wanted to hurt him, he had certainly been presented with the perfect opportunity and yet he had not. He searched the feeling and found himself having to admit to nerves, rather than panic._  
  
_“Well.” He attempted to begin, adopting a tone consistent with his usual voice and manner when conversing with Julian during their lunches. “I have noticed a difference in how I perceive my surroundings – everything is more detailed, sharper, has come into greater focus. I did wonder when we met for that first lunch after I left the infirmary how you would even appear through my eyes now without the filter of the implant.”_

_“I hope you didn't suffer too great a shock and disappointment.” Julian's words were light but Garak had indeed had some moments where he had been concerned that there was a possibility he had created the Doctor himself, that so strong had the effects of the implant been that he had been engaging with a figment of his imagination. Rationally, he knew this fear did not hold up under even the slightest scrutiny and yet, it had niggled at him once or twice. Then he had seen his Doctor for the first time after his recovery and he was undeniably real, real and even more lovely to look upon than he had been through the haze of the drug._

_“Oh.” He replied in an imitation of Julian's light tone. “Rather the opposite, Julian.”_

_They stood together, face to face, and Garak found himself considering how often he had seen Julian's eyes gazing up at him, as he would usually be the one to arrive for lunch first and Garak would depart before him, leaving Julian in the position of having to tilt his head up towards Garak as he stood. Lying in the infirmary, for the first time, he was the one looking up at Julian, which had initially unsettled him but soon became a source of comfort, feeling the Doctor's presence at his side, bent over him, helping him through this, his eyes concerned, assessing, professional but also not. And now they faced one another, this new level of intimacy in their relationship exhilarating but completely natural, as inescapable as the conclusion to a Cardassian novel – and yet, this first deepening of intimacy further highlighted how very far they still would have to go._

_Garak did not know exactly what he expected but it had not been that Julian would raise his hand and stroke his fingers over his hair._

_“I've wanted to do that for quite a while now, Elim, I have to admit.” His eyes roved over his black hair. “It just looked so good to touch, and I wanted to know the feel of it, the texture.” He repeated the movement and Garak involuntarily leaned into it. He could not remember the last time he had been petted in such a manner._

_Julian's hand moved down to the nape of his neck and rested there, his fingertips warm against his skin._

_“I must confess.” Garak responded quietly, his voice more shaky than he would ever admit to. “That I too have for quite some time wished to do this.” He reached for Julian's free arm and using his fingers, pushed back his sleeve in order to expose the underside of his wrist. His human skin looked so soft there and the experience of finally touching it proved this to be true._

_“And this.” He moved his fingers to Julian's collarbone, tracing over the elegant angle of it, feeling Julian's reactions to his touches._

_“And what about this?” Julian tightened his hold on the back of Garak's neck and pulling him closer, found his lips with his own and kissed him, and he held onto the younger man's shoulders for support and returned his embrace._

“Do you ever think about that, Julian?” He whispered in the dark to his partner. “That first kiss? For me it was what I would term a golden memory.” There was still no response or reaction from his partner.


	5. Chapter 5

Something niggled at Garak, pulling him away from his pleasant memories and thoughts. During the aftermath of coming off the implant, and the consequent deepening of his relationship with Julian, he had recognised and further admitted to himself how his intentions towards the younger man had initially been self-serving and manipulative. At that time, he had not known about Julian's background, his status as an augment, what Richard and Amsha Bashir had done to him. Had he too then been guilty of something similar in how he had wanted to use and manipulate Julian? For Garak viewed the Bashirs as having used their child, manipulating him, literally and physically, as well as emotionally. Had Julian sensed this in Garak, had it reminded him of how he had been treated before? He could not know. He hoped Julian had long ago learnt that Garak no longer valued him only for what advantages he could gain from him or how he could be played. Garak had not wanted to change Julian in any way, not how his parents had or indeed, not how Tain and his schooling had changed him. But just because that had not been his intention did not mean Julian had not experienced it as such. Had he inadvertently caused Julian distress by his actions through these past years together, not knowing the effect he was having on his partner? Once more, with regret, and a hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach, he thought of his remark about learning a language. Likewise, he had meant something else by it but this was clearly not how Julian had taken it, and it had precipitated this crisis. 

He stroked Julian's hair, his partner still disconnected and unresponsive. How long would this continue? 

“Oh, Julian, I am so sorry. Please – come back to me, let me help to make up for this.”

-

Garak passed a restless night, managing to doze off only for brief periods before jerking awake once more, checking on Julian, whose condition remained unchanged. He lay beside his partner, considering how he would approach having to call Julian in sick to the infirmary without having anyone come in and interfere. He hoped to keep them away until it was absolutely necessary. However another part of him wrestled with this, knowing that the longer Julian's condition continued like this, the more pressing it would become to get a medical professional involved, in spite of his hesitations in doing so and the concern that it would further trigger his partner, sending him further into whatever space he was currently in. However, he could not think of this yet. He sent through a message, informing the infirmary that Julian was indisposed and he hoped no one would come searching for him. He set Julian's comm badge aside.

“Now, my dear.” He bent down to Julian, checking his eyes for any sign of change and found none. So, he proceeded to help Julian in raising him up from their bed and guiding him into their bathroom, where he repeated the assistance he had given his partner the night previously. Once this was accomplished, he further manoeuvred Julian into a seated position, and after undressing him, used a wash cloth and hot water to perform his necessary daily ablutions. After drying and dressing him, he brought him to their sofa, and set him down there carefully. He attended to his own needs after that and briskly, concerned about leaving his partner alone in this state. Wanting to ensure Julian was at least somewhat hydrated, he replicated some ice chips again, and began to ponder the issue of getting sustenance of a more solid kind into Julian. So focused was he on the task to hand and preoccupied by these thoughts, he did not notice the exact moment when the light returned to Julian's eyes, and how they began to move around, searching for something. When Garak saw this, he halted his movements, and remained still, the cup of ice in his hand. 

“Julian?”

His partner's left hand reached for him, weakly, and Garak took hold of it, clumsily setting down the cup. He repeated his name. Julian attempted to say something, coughing as he sought to enunciate the sounds; however, Garak understood what he wanted nonetheless, and releasing his hand, quickly retrieved Kukalaka from his shelf and placed him into his arms. Julian's fingers curled around the small bear. His eyes were exhausted and he indicated to Garak he was going to lie down and sleep. Loathe though he was to lose Julian as soon as he had returned to him, he knew that he must be utterly drained after his experience and so he covered him up with a blanket, and nearly as soon as he lay down on the sofa, he was asleep, Kukalaka still in his grip.  
Garak stayed near him while he slept. He answered a comm from Lieutenant Dax and then Chief O'Brien, both enquiring after their friend, and at least now Garak could truthfully say Julian was sleeping and recovering.  
Some hours passed and Garak attempted to distract himself with a particularly trashy enigma tale, sipping at some red leaf tea, experiencing no other appetite. Julian slept deeply and soundly, and when he came to, though still a little shaky, he was much more vital and present, more together than earlier.

“Elim.” He sighed as his partner sat beside him, brushing his hair off his face.

“My dearest Julian. You gave me quite a fright.” 

“I am so sorry.”

“Do not apologise, please, there is no need.”

“I know we need to talk and I do very much want to talk with you but, and I hate to be so blunt, I am absolutely famished.”

Garak smiled and tilted his head away, not giving voice to how happy it made him to see Julian with such a hunger, with very human needs that drove him. He went to the replicator and returned with a plateful of scones which Julian fell upon gratefully. When this was discharged and then cleared away by Garak, they sat together. Julian continued to keep Kukalaka near to hand, not always holding onto him, but intermittently reaching out to find he was there, checking, or on other occasions stroking him and pulling him to himself.

“Oh.” Garak said unhappily, realising. “Oh, my dear, I do apologise, I -”. He found himself suddenly overwhelmed by his sense of failure, knowing now Julian had, all these hours in his disconnected state, been wishing to hold his teddy bear and had been unable to reach for him or make Garak understand what he wanted. He swallowed, finding he was more affected by this than he would have expected.

“Elim, love, you couldn't have known, it's alright.”

Garak shook his head, rejecting these words, but then stilled. If he became outwardly distressed at his failing, then Julian would feel compelled to expend energy in reassuring him and would want to make him feel better, which would not do at all, as he had only just come out of this state and needed to husband all his energy. Garak steadied his breathing and met Julian's gaze as evenly as he could. Another thought struck him. 

“Julian, were you in any pain or discomfort during this time?”

“What? Oh, no. No, no, Elim, I wasn't in any physical pain, I just - “. He shook his head, at a loss as to how to proceed. “I just – wasn't. I was very, very far away from myself, from anything, I don't know where I was, if I was anywhere. I didn't feel anything. I didn't experience a sense of time. It was just a nothing, neither negative nor positive. I was absent from it all. Or rather part of me was absent from everything. I don't know how to explain it better than this. Though I had drifted so far away, I knew that everything here, my life, myself, you, all that, I knew it was me, and it hadn't stopped or disappeared. It was all still happening somewhere but I just didn't have to deal with it. Perhaps that explains how I could both not feel anything but also have another part of me want to hold Kukalaka. I would say that it sounds like a strange sensation yet it wasn't anything at all at the same time. Everything and nothing, together.”

“Has this ever happened before?”

“Once. But it only happened when I was young, and it never happened to me as an adult, I had always wondered if it would occur again but I put it down to the combination of my being a teenager and the stress of the situation which caused it. But – Elim, how long was I like this for?”

“From yesterday evening until this morning.” 

That seemed to startle Julian. “I couldn't tell. I don't think I even understood time anymore during this period. The first time it happened was for a much shorter period, but I still had to rely on someone else telling me how much time had elapsed.” 

He picked up Kukalaka and held him on his lap. Garak did not know whether to reach out and provide some form of physical reassurance to his partner; however, he did know he should encourage this conversation to continue, in spite of how difficult it might become. 

“It happened when I was fifteen. My mother told me afterwards my father wasn't even frightened or worried, just livid.” He laughed. 

Fifteen, Garak processed this – when Julian had found out about the augment treatments, what his parents had done to him. 

“She at least had been frightened, but my father, no, he was just angry because they'd already gone to all that effort and cost to fix me and now apparently it had gone wrong if I could just shut down like a malfunctioning android, I was one of those augments that didn't work. He was angry.” Julian emphasised. “All they cared about was not being caught. They were worried it would lead them to being exposed. And of course, my father's main concern was that the treatments hadn't worked. When it became apparent, as a small child, that I had a developmental disorder, my father was only disappointed really that I didn't have the right kind of disorder. He would have been delighted with me if I had been an idiot-savant. He only wanted to fix me to have the right kind of disorder.” Julian was becoming agitated now. “And that's what he got, after the treatments, a savant that could out-perform all his peers, who would finally be the proper son they required and felt entitled to, but who was a liability in social situations. That didn't matter though because my life was never my own, that's what their actions told me, so what role did it play whether I couldn't make friends or understand the nuances of social interaction and connection? That wasn't what they wanted form me. I was there to perform. I mean this literally. My father dragged me around, his trained idiot-savant, and had me perform on command, meaningless feats, circus tricks which were impressive to him and to his crass associates. The man had, and has, no imagination – to him, knowledge is just an accumulation of facts, like accumulating money; the more you have of it, the better. He does not ascribe any value to application or interpretation of knowledge, of a person being able in one area without needing to be 'good' at everything. He had me memorise information, purely to demonstrate that I could do it. The worst part, Elim, is that I still haven't forgotten what he had me learn. It was a near nightly event, my performances, being dragged from my bed, groggy and confused, surrounded by people all like my father, drinking and smoking, leering at me, applauding me when I did what I was supposed to, my father's face - “. Julian paused breathing hard.

Garak became aware that he had balled up his fists so tightly that his nails were digging into the soft scales of his palm. He consciously did not release this hold but clenched even harder. 

“And once it was discharged, I was sent back to bed. He brought me around everywhere, not just performing at home. His favourite trick was to have me recite the numbers of pi and I could go quite far on that one. It was a perfect act, really – they would be impressed but could then go back to being loud and drinking while I continued to recite because it meant nothing to them. They just knew vaguely that pi was something unending and that I was smart by dint of being able to memorise it. They had no understanding of what pi is or what it is used for, its possibilities. It perfectly sums up my father – knowing something has value, getting it, not comprehending it at all.” The agitation was gone from Julian's frame now, he instead slumped forward, his head bowed.

Garak placed his hand on Julian's forearm. 

“My dearest, I am so very sorry I did not understand this and I am even more sorry for what was done to you. I also must apologise for my careless comment about learning a language when I did not comprehend how such things have been twisted for you and used against you.”

Julian raised his head to look at Garak. 

“It's not your fault, Elim.”

“No, but I must endeavour to do better in future.”

“I was right back there, in my childhood, being spurred on by my father. I -”. He was struggling very much now to put his thoughts into words and Garak sensed they would need to bring this conversation to a conclusion soon. To be resumed at another time, but for now, his love was exhausted. Garak remained convinced, however, that though he had very much bungled his first attempt at broaching this topic with Julian, this issue of learning and language was where his partner, if negotiated correctly, could find some relief from the legacy of his parents' actions. 

“I know your intentions were good, Elim.” Julian managed to continue. “And I know somehow that you were right in seeking to get me to engage with this. But I don't know if I'm ready yet.”

Garak raised his hand and stroked his cheek. 

“However.” He continued in stops and starts. “If you felt able, could we – at some point, I mean, could you tell me about – I need to understand how -”. 

Garak interrupted him gently, seeing that Julian really was at the end of his ability to communicate verbally.

“I will. I will tell you about my own upbringing in this regard. Perhaps if you are feeling up to it, we could book a holosuite in the near future, and spend some time talking there.”

Julian nodded gratefully. 

“Oh.” He smiled. “Chief O'Brien and Lieutenant Dax were both concerned about you and called asking after you.”

Julian's face softened at the mention of his two friends. “I will check in on them as soon as I can.”

“I have just one last thing to ask, in brief.” Garak said. “Could this state of disconnection or disassociation overcome you again?” 

“It could. This was the second time in my life. I have no way of knowing or predicting. It seems to be something my mind only resorts to in moments of great, great stress.”

“If it does happen again, is there any benefit for me to call upon medical support? Or is this something you would expressly wish for me to not do?”

Julian jerked, looking at him, surprised. 

“I did not know whether to take you to the infirmary or not but since I could not ask you for your consent on this point, I chose not to, and I apologise if I made the wrong decision.”

“No, no, it wasn't. It – thank you.” He squeezed his partner's hand. Garak knew then that, if nothing else, at least in this matter he had acted correctly by not bringing Julian to the infirmary. Throughout his life his agency and autonomy had been taken away from him, first with the augment treatments, then as his father's performer, repeatedly. At least on this occasion, whether it had been a medically sound decision or not, Julian had not had his agency taken from him once again and he had not been the cause of it. 

-

Garak made his way through the promenade and into Quark's bar, to be on time for his assignation with Julian. Out of long practice and habit, he did a quick assessment of the space, noting the layout and the exits, as well as seeing who was present, all done without breaking his stride or giving an outward indication with his face or body. He noted Chief O'Brien and Mrs. O'Brien, seated at a quiet table on the higher level of the bar, chatting together. He watched as Lieutenant Dax and Worf emerged from a holosuite, covered in various scrapes and cuts but looking quite content. Before, he would have sought to deconstruct these two respective relationships only to gain information and probe for potential weak points, places to be exploited. Now he found himself pondering the nature of their relationships, how they interacted with one another, what they went through together, how they took on any issues or problems they encountered. He was not thinking of this in a voyeuristic manner, more rather in a new-found sense of admiration for what these people had built and sought to maintain.  
He waited at the bar, having arrived before Julian and he did not know whether to order a drink. He didn't enjoy standing here in full view of everyone; he was exposed and there were too many of them for his liking. Thankfully, before the urge to sharply address a group of people to be considerate enough to back off and give him the bare minimum of space overpowered him, he spotted Julian at the bar's entrance, making his way towards him.  
It had been a few days since the dissociative attack and their conversation directly afterwards. Things were not quite as they had been before for how could they be? Julian had, without saying anything, given up his studies of the Bajoran language. Though being a little more subdued, nothing was essentially different in his partner. He had spent some time with the Chief, playing darts and tennis, which Garak took as a good sign. It further prompted him to consider Julian's attitude to the area of sport – in particular, tennis, as something that had once been competition and now was a past time shared with a valued friend. Also the pursuit of darts at the Chief's instigation, a game which had been begun in camaraderie, in spite of the appearance of competition – there was taint to it, of past experiences from his upbringing. He had successfully shifted his perception of this pursuit from negative to positive, relieved it of its burdensome association. Could this also be achieved in others areas? An uncomfortable thought struck him, however, and was difficult to dislodge for he could not nearly solve it – namely, where was the line between helping his partner and manipulating him the same way his parents had? Where did the difference lie? He would like to believe it lay in his motivations and intentions but this had already proven to be insufficient to prevent distress and hurt to Julian.  
He did not wish to change Julian, he did not wish to change him fundamentally or to change him because he believed he needed to be fixed. He wished only for his lover to be more content in himself but perhaps there was no way to pursue this without aligning himself too closely with the damaging approaches of Julian's parents, without being an interfering force. Was encouraging and supporting development akin to pressuring someone against their will or beyond their boundaries?

Julian was all too clearly preoccupied by what had transpired in these recent days. Though they remained physically close and exchanged their usual touches and kisses, Julian had held back from anything further, anything that could be perceived as a prelude to engaging in more sexually intimate activities. Garak had not questioned this – rises and dips in this area were to be expected and were a part of a longer-term relationship, and indeed, he had not been feeling too physically amorous since Julian's attack – not because in the aftermath of witnessing his lover in such a state he had lost desire for him, rather his concern and feelings for Julian overrode everything else. However, Julian had been compelled to address this issue with Garak as they lay beside one another in bed the previous night. 

“Elim, I don't know how you have been feeling since what happened but I have to be honest, for me, I would feel better holding back from anything too intimate, uhm, that is, from sex until I have cleared my mind about what has been going on. I would be too worried about something happening as a side-effect.”

“I don't quite follow?”

“I mean – that is, I'm worried.” He sighed, frustrated with himself. “I'm worried that with all these strange feelings in me right now, I could inadvertently take it out on you during sex.”

His voice had become somewhat shaky towards the end of this sentence, speaking to how apprehensive he was about what he was telling Garak. He rolled onto his side, closer to his partner.

“Then we shall abstain until you are in a more settled state, there is no issue with that. However, I would like to reassure you that I don't believe you could coerce me in some way during our love-making, if that it what you fear.”

Julian had turned to face him as well, his eyes open and clear. “It is what I'm afraid of, love, and I hate to contradict you -”. Garak laughed at this. “But I do believe I could, not that I would ever abuse this.”

Garak felt a prickling along his neck ridges and not in an entirely pleasant manner. “Julian, I do not know what you are talking about.” This had come out harsher than he had intended but he did not seek to soften it with further words, instead he hoped this tone would alert Julian to not continue on with this subject because he was too afraid of what his partner would say to him next. 

“Elim, I have noticed how you very much enjoy when I tell you what to do during sex, when I order you even.”

Garak lowered his eyes, too ashamed to meet Julian's gaze. To hear those words spoken out loud, to want to reject them and recoil from them without understanding why he wanted to, not understanding why he could not trust Julian's gentle tones, with no malice in them. Julian said nothing but reached out his hand and stroked one of Garak's eye ridges, the repeated movement intended as soothing but Garak was too on edge. 

“I am sorry for making you uncomfortable. Maybe this is something we can talk about another time, when you feel ready to.”

Garak kept his gaze lowered, shame coalescing in his belly with annoyance at himself and his own irrational limitations, a sadness for himself and for Julian for having been saddled with someone like him. 

“Oh, Elim, please.” Julian kissed his eye ridge, his fingers carding through his hair. “It's perfectly fine to not be comfortable talking about this yet. We have plenty of time for that, there's no pressure. I thought I should just let you knew I've noticed it and we can leave it at that for now.”

Garak's thoughts returned to this conversation repeatedly, breaking his concentration when he was working in his shop or reading a padd. He experienced a strange tingling and shortness of breath at it, at ideas and images which remained vague and unformed in his mind, just below the surface.

“Doctor.” Garak inclined his head once Julian was close enough and received a smile, genuine and warm, in return. 

“Shall we?” 

They fell in step side by side, and proceeded to the holosuite reserved for them.


	6. Chapter 6

Julian had asked for Garak to select the programme and so when they entered through the doors they found themselves on a simulation of Cardassia, the place Garak wished he could one day show to his partner. Garak could never make himself forget that these were simulations and that he was in a small room on a space station. He rarely indulged in such sentimentality, except on the occasions when he wanted to sharpen his feelings of loss and these holographic images never failed to produce the sought-after effect.

"Where exactly on Cardassia are we, Garak?” Julian asked him, looking around him with interest, his eyes wandering over the shapes of the buildings, the rise and fall of the cityscape.

“We are in Coranum.” Garak seated himself on an available bench and Julian took up position beside him. “From here, you can see all of the capital spread out below you.”

He looked at the facsimile of the view from his youth and sought not to think of what was being wrought upon his home planet currently. 

“I sat here so often when I was young.”

“It was a favourite spot?” Julian placed his hand on Garak's thigh. Even though it was a programme, he struggled to reciprocate the gesture in some manner in public. 

“Well, yes, it was. But I had another reason to come here. It was to motivate myself when I was struggling with my learning and work that my father expected me to accomplish, the training for the future role I was to assume. I could never admit to such moments of weakness to Tain or to anyone, for that matter. So, I came out here, and sat, looking at this view of our capital, to remind myself, over and over, of the purpose I served, that is, Cardassia.” He turned his face away from Julian. “I am aware of how such sentiments ring in the ears of others, the nationalistic overtones rather than undertones. To some degree, I would grant that you are correct. On Cardassia we do need to reassess what serving 'Cardassia' means, what being Cardassian is. But with that caveat, I will always strive to serve my people. When I was young I did not have such a nuanced understanding, indeed, this is a recently won position and reached with terrible difficulty. I believe my father intended exile to have the opposite effect on me to which it did. The distance it granted me from Cardassia and the connection to others, and to non-Cardassians, has been of benefit to me in disrupting and adjusting my world view.” He gave a wan smile. “I don't think Tain even considered the unintentional effects of his teaching and discipline. He always assumed I would think just as he did. I could predict how he would think on any given issue and what his actions would be and responded accordingly. So perhaps it seemed there was evidence enough to that effect. However, I didn't.” Garak stopped again, the image of Tain rising powerfully in his mind's eye, given further strength by the current setting, surrounded by the image of the streets from his childhood, the grand buildings Tain had frequented, building up and exerting his power behind these closed doors, shaping and creating Cardassia. 

“I was always intended to follow in my father's footsteps, to join the Obsidian Order, take up my place at his side. Traditional schooling alone would not be sufficient to prepare me for this, although rhetoric and political science would play a great role in my future position. When study finished for other students, for me, it had just begun. Much of it was not for my own personal benefit, it was, as ever, for the benefit of Cardassia, but also to protect her interests, and those of Tain and his ilk, in the scenario that I was captured by the enemy side, whoever that may have been on any given day. You already know too well about the implant to assist me in withstanding torture. This was the aim of my training – to ensure I revealed no information whilst extracting as much as possible. This is where languages came in.” 

He sighed, remembering all the padds filled with symbols he had to commit to memory, how exhausted he was and how he could never allow anyone to know either how very tired he was or allow anyone to know that he could speak these languages. 

“It seems somewhat ironic now, considering how xenophobic my people were to become, that part of their strategy to maintain superiority was to train her servants in commanding countless foreign languages. I won't even tell you how many languages I can theoretically speak, not out of some false sense of modesty for I am not proud of this ability. Rather I do not believe they truly count as languages I can claim myself to be fluent in. Yes, I worked my way through the grammar and dialects, not unlike what you did recently in your language learning.” 

He dared to touch on this, hoping Julian would not react adversely to it; his partner gave no sign of being disturbed by this. He appeared instead intently focused on what Garak was sharing with him, his eyes shimmering with sympathetic emotion. How strange it was, Garak mused, that they, from different planets, different societies, of differing ages, could in so many ways have childhood experiences of astonishing overlap or points of identification. 

“It was as much noise and heavy knowledge, crammed into my head, to cover every and any eventuality. I was to be prepared in case of being in a situation where my translator was deactivated or those around me had a way of communicating outside of it, and this is why I could never let anyone know of my ability, so no enemy could ever discover that intel. The funny, or sad thing about it, depending on how you view it, is that so little of what I learned was ever put to use. To this day, I have not met a member of many species whose languages I have learned. I have never heard them spoken by a living tongue, only inside the confines of my childhood study. I have never conversed or had any exchange with someone from the more far-flung planets whose languages I mastered. Again, even if I had had such a friendly or neutral encounter, I would not have been able to give voice to those words. I would have had to hide what I knew, a conditioning I have not yet been able to unlearn.”

He paused, considering how best to phrase what he wanted to say. “The other aspect of learning these languages was the personas created to go with them.”

“How do you mean?” 

“Well. It was artificial. A cover story for the eventuality that my ability in a certain language was uncovered and this cover story was to serve as an identity. I was not to allow anyone to know, if possible, that I could understand them. However, if I got caught somehow, a plausible story was needed as to why I commanded the language. I had to carry all these stories around with me, lives that did not belong to me, on top of languages which didn't belong to me either. I had long ago reconciled myself to the need for different lives as part of my role in the Obsidian Order. But these lives were never called upon and they seemed so – empty.” He sighed. “What was the point of it all? Let me rephrase that – I understand the aim of this all when examined through the logic of the order. However, I could not feel it, in spite of my very strong desire to serve.” 

Even now he still could not say out loud that which he truly wished to – that he was a person who had so many threads but no centre. How could a person move through this world with no centre? The only centre of himself was the Order, and Tain. Or had been. He knew this had been so in the past and yet it had not really been so, it had been another self without a centre that stayed with him even though he seemed to have no place in his new life. His involvement in the Dominion war had very much put paid to that pretence, and once he began questioning the logic and value of the order, the only centre of himself he had ever known, things had unravelled quickly, leaving him scrabbling for a mask to replace the cover had lost. 

“I wonder.” Julian began. “If Tain did this deliberately.”

“My dear, the plan and training was of his own devising. So, it indeed was intentional that I should be subjected to such learning.”

“No, I meant – the personas, the disconnection from these foreign languages – did he deliberately want you to experience such alienation? All the better to strengthen your love of Cardassia and resolve to serve her. Returning to speaking Cardassi after those sessions must have been a sweet relief, a sense of the familiar and known.”

Garak sat, not speaking, inwardly surprised at how Julian had perceived the extra manipulation hidden in his father's training. While he considered this, Julian continued on. “Did your voice change?”

“My voice? When? In which context?” 

“When you had to practice those other languages. I - .” Julian swallowed. “Once I finally managed to grasp verbal communication – although it might be a debatable point with some whether I ever truly have - .” He shifted on the bench and Garak reached out a hand to encircle his wrist, brushing his thumb against the soft skin on the underside of his forearm. 

“My dear, it pains me to hear you deprecate yourself in such a manner.”

“I know, Garak, I know. I try not to.” 

“I do understand too well how hard it can be to break such a long-standing habit.” He had wanted to say 'conditioning' but reconsidered it at the last moment. 

“In any case, once I did learn to talk, I found that certain situations, or words – or people.” Garak imagined he was referring to his father. “I found that they had an effect on me, and it caused my voice to change when I was speaking. Not that I stammered or stuttered necessarily, but more that my words, my tone and pitch became more childish. I could hear it myself but was powerless to change it or prevent it, it somehow bypassed anything rational in me and it was frustrating because I was even more limited then in my ability to defend myself or put forth an argument or rebuttal. I wondered if you had ever experienced something similar. Did certain languages and the associated memories of being made to learn them affect how you spoke them?”

“I could not say for certain.” He thought bitterly of the scenario Julian had portrayed, the young man struggling and ashamed, the words in his mouth unable to match what was in his mind, the unhelpful, at best, or malicious, at worst, other figure in the scenario unwilling to help, even mocking him perhaps. He sought to focus on Julian's question and give it a decent answer in as far as he was capable of doing.

“I did note a difference when I returned to speaking Cardassi after these sessions. There was a sense with the other languages of speaking words that had nothing to do with me. And as I had – have – such a love of words and their power, it went against my natural inclinations, it was so very wrong to me.” The complexity of his own feelings about it could only be expressed in a halfway satisfactory manner with recourse to such a simple vague word as 'wrong'. “I believe my voice was very expressionless in such moments when speaking these other languages. I was very far away somehow and so there was no real life in my words. I was never engaging in conversation of learning to express myself really, so there was no need for it. It really was liberating when I could return to speaking Cardassian.”

“It is something I admire about you.” Julian said. “Your ability with words. I don't mean – I genuinely mean this, not in reference to your previous life or anything of that kind. I just take such pleasure in listening to how you talk – and that is only through the universal translator, so I can only imagine how fine you sound in Cardassi. That is to say, I do admire your ability in an area where I myself am not particularly adept and that is not me being self-deprecating.” He got in before Garak could react. “It is just how it is and that is fine. In face, well – when we first met, I spent a long time attempting to copy your way of speaking. I don't know how successful I was ultimately but it did feel good somehow.”

Garak heard what Julian was saying and experienced a mild pleasure at it, however he was still too deep in his memories of his upbringing in this regard to fully appreciate it. He experienced such a sense of waste at all these hours and hours of his life, engaged in meaningless, paranoid pursuit of knowledge. 

“What a corruption of language it all was, Julian! What a perversion of the pursuit of learning!”

He felt Julian reaching for his hand, untangling his clenched fingers which he had dug deeply into his own thighs. 

“But we can see the origins of Cardassia' downfall even in that. Oh, Doctor.” He responded to Julian's surprised stare at these words. “I am not naïve. No matter the outcome of this war, it is the downfall of Cardassia as we know it. What will emerge afterwards is the only real question.” 

There was a queasy stab of pain in his stomach at having spoken out loud that which he had only thought to himself in the small hours of the night. He sought to return to the topic directly at hand, but really, they were all connected together, although he worried he was the only one who could perceive the links.

“Others may have been surprised at how Cardassia has fallen for the Dominion's propaganda but I certainly was not. In a society where language does not serve to communicate, they will always be vulnerable to malicious influence, as insulting and counter-intuitive this would be to the majority of Cardassians if you put it to them in this manner.” A great heaviness had settled over Garak.

“But.” Julian began. “You didn't do exactly as Tain expected, did you? He didn't expect you to end up developing such a love of one particular language, of one culture's literature.”

Garak raised his head and met Julian's fond gaze. He had understood and this lessened some of the constricting weight which had descended on him. 

“Indeed no, Doctor, and it was something I had to hide from him at all costs. Imagine, a Cardassian speaking of a weakness for Terran culture, a Cardassian who so loved and adored Federation Standard.” He shook his head, half-laughing over the absurdity and the worst aspects of his own people. “If only Tain could have just let me focus on Standard and pursue that passion of mine. I had learned all my life to abhor other cultures as inferior, particularly Bajoran and Terran, and yet, in the case of Earth, I found myself drawn to this culture's literature. My motivation in mastering in Standard was purely so I could read these works in their original. But on Cardassia ,the only love we are supposed to have is for the planet, for Cardassia, and love in any other form is secondary, sentiment, and a vulnerability. So, as with any of my other loves, I hid it, guarded it jealously for myself.” He closed his eyes, feeling the artificial dry Cardassian wind move over his scales, reminding him of how unbearably cold it really was on this station. “I wanted to speak Standard the way these authors wrote it. I dreamed of visiting the cities described within their pages, of encountering such characters as Emma Woodhouse, Becky Sharp, or Charles Ryder. The language lived for me though I had at that point had no opportunity to speak it with anyone. My love of Standard threw into further relief the lack of a relationship I had with those other languages I was forced to learn. My love affair with Standard, which very much continues to this day, demonstrated to me what learning, or intercultural exchange should be about.”

“Elim, I don't believe I have ever heard you talk quite in this way before.” 

Garak could see Julian was affected by what he had been recounting to him, indeed, he appeared to have been moved by it. “There's something very beautiful to me in what you're describing.” His eyes softened as he smiled. “I suppose you were only after me for my dulcet tones in Standard?”

Garak snuffled in response but his own smile belied the strength of it. “I do enjoy hearing you speak unfiltered, my dear. I have always found your voice – soothing.”

“If you ever wanted – you can always ask to turn off our translators and we can talk in Standard. I also don't think I've heard you speaking in Standard, aside from the time when the translators malfunctioned and to be honest, Elim, I wasn't really taking in very much, I was so over-whelmed.”

Garak felt warm at these words and understood them as a positive development. He knew he couldn't take it any further currently without addressing the issue far too directly. But Julian now knew more of his own background, and position in relation to this and he had shown himself interested in what Garak was attempting to communicate to him. 

“Whenever you wish to pass judgement on my Federation Standard abilities, I will make myself available.” He inclined his head in a manner which Julian instantly recognised as Garak's version of flirtatious. 

“Oh, Elim, I was thinking more about how interesting it would be to see how my unfiltered Standard would affect you.”

-  
Though Garak had great admiration for Lieutenant Dax, they did not know one another particularly well. Under different circumstances he would have hoped to find a respected friend in her. He valued the friendship she shared with Julian, and this was the main reason why he decided to seek her out, and make the unusual request for the three of them to share a drink at Quark's bar that evening. She was visibly somewhat surprised at this unexpected invitation from Garak but he also imagined she had some suspicion or concern that it related to Julian, since the events of the malfunctioning translators. It had not escaped Garak's notice how the Lieutenant and the Major were becoming closer and closer, though it may not have been public knowledge yet. Lieutenant Dax must have had Major Kira's side of the events that day and he remained curious as to what the particulars of it were. He did not expand any further on why he wished for them to meet but envisioned how he would arrange the conversation so that the result he hoped for would emerge.

Julian had been more settled after their evening at the holosuite. The Dominion war continued to not only force its way into their lives but also to change and shape it. Waves of casualties arrived, some patched up by the Doctor and his staff before being returned to engage in battle again, less fortunate others were sent home to their families and loved one to be laid to rest. Julian bore the responsibility and duty thrust upon him well, and Garak was struck regularly by the difference between the still-young man he had first encountered on the station and the capable and seasoned figure he had become. He recognised the feeling as pride but having no one to share it with, kept it to himself.  
Somehow they maintained their relationship in spite of the impact of the war – it was unspoken between them that there was a distinct possibility they would not survive the war, and so even if it was only a few brief moments, they ensured that each day was filled with conscious touches or embraces, that they spoke of things bearing no relation to the war, or that they just did not speak at all but shared in these quiet moments of respite together. They both knew and accepted that they had duties to fulfil and if it came to pass, these duties of war would be chosen over their partner, this was just how it was. 

It was hard to know exactly how to live one's life during war, Garak found himself pondering. Was there time to think of the past, to address its issues? Should they jut live in a continuous present and shove all of these problems out of the way, to be dealt with if and when the war ended and they both emerged from it intact? Or would such a course of action have the consequence of destroying the present too, and their relationship in the long run? He continued to observe his partner, gathering information as he could, but through the eyes of a lover, not an enemy or disinterested party, seeking leverage or gains. He also stored up mental images of Julian, so he would have a supply to leaf through during the worst times of the war, which were surely yet still to come, when they would likely be separated.


	7. Chapter 7

Garak was aware of a new openness in Julian, an interest in the aspect of his life and work which related to Cardassia and tentatively, its language. He sensed when Julian would glance over his shoulder or would look at him sideways when he was perusing padds in Cardassi, his eyes moving over the symbols and how they criss-crossed in a manner unrecognisable to Federation Standard. However, he did not yet question Garak about this script and so he did not volunteer any such information nor give any indication that he was aware of Julian's curiosity. The one thing he did question Garak about was his name.

“Elim – am I saying your name correctly?”

This came during one of their rarer and rarer lunches, which even when they managed to set and keep a date, would often be cut short by an emergency calling the Doctor away. Garak tilted his head.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“No, I mean, am I really pronouncing it correctly, not just a foreigner's decent approximation of it? Do I say your name like other Cardassians would?”

Garak hesitated and after a moment, Julian understood why. 

“Elim.” Julian said in a low voice which Garak struggled to catch due to the bustle around them. “I won't be upset. It is alright to correct me on this. I would rather know now instead of finding out when we go to Cardassia together and I say your name incorrectly in front of a load of Cardassians.”

“You would want to go there? To Cardassia?” Garak was thrown somewhat by this. They had never addressed what their future together might hold, the war the only future they were allowed at this time. 

“Of course. I know, I know your situation now but, after the war, who knows, maybe you'll be able to return.” Julian trailed off, his vague sentence still hopeful. 

“My dear, I would enjoy nothing more than to show you around Cardassia.” He did not add that it had been a sentimental fantasy of his which had taken hold of him after the first occasion they had met, that he would wander the streets of the capital with this lovely creature by his side, impressing him with Cardassia Prime's splendour, introducing him to those places which had special importance and meaning for him – if and when the war ended, if they survived, if he was allowed to return to his home planet, if anything remained of the planet's splendours.  
He put this aside for the moment and returned to the question. 

“You do pronounce my name correctly for the most part. The only part which sounds off is where you place the stress, and a small adjustment of the one vowel is all that's required. But this is something only a Cardassian would notice.”

“Well, since I am trying to get the notice of a Cardassian,” Julian said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Could we turn off our translators for a moment and you could then share this secret inside knowledge with me?”

Without betraying his uncertainty, Garak followed Julian in turning off his translator and watched him carefully. They were sitting in the midst of groups of people, eating, talking, coming and going, a myriad of conversations and languages taking place around them. He was concerned this would be too overwhelming for Julian to be exposed to. Garak, however, experienced the opposite – he enjoyed attending to the interplay of different conversations and languages, concentrating on separating out the various dialects, making sense of the Babel happening around him. They were only going to leave their translators off though for as long as it took Garak to say his name a few times so Julian could hear it, which, trying not to feel self-conscious, he did. Once Julian nodded, they both turned their translators back on. 

“You see, you have my first name down fine, and anyhow, there would not be a great need for others to hear you saying that, as first names are a far more personal and intimate thing than in Federation planets. However – Garak. It isn't an 'ik', it resembles rather an 'ak'.”  


“Garak.” Julian repeated, having changed the vowel and stress, it emerging from his mouth more clipped and somehow stronger sounding than when others said it.

“Beautiful.” And it really was, beautiful to hear and beautiful to witness how Julian's face lit up at his reaction, although part of him was sad that Julian reacted to praise like a plant seeking out sunlight, the legacy of his upbringing. And, Garak, barely admitting it to himself, recognised this need too well in himself. If Tain had ever been able to recognise him or give him direct praise, he cringed to think how pathetic his reaction would have been and how unbecoming it would be to witness a middle-aged Cardassian be returned to his childhood self. A thought, unbidden, entered his mind, and he immediately attempted to erase it because it had been dangerously close to imagine how very good it would feel to hear Julian bestowing words of praise upon him.

-

However, if Garak thought Julian beautiful, his partner in return seemed very appreciative of his form, something which he had learned to adjust to after his initial suspicion. Julian's enthusiasm was genuine, genuine as he was in everything, his passions, his dislikes, his work, his beliefs. He did not know if he would ever learn to take pleasure in his body the same way Julian did, who was so easy in his physical self, who enjoyed displaying himself for his partner's consumption. That morning, Garak awoke and Julian was already up, moving about their bedroom. When he noticed that Garak was awake, he stopped and seated himself in the armchair across from his partner. Garak made to arise from the bed, but upon seeing him prepare to move, Julian said: “No, Elim. Stay there.” 

Garak hesitated, sensing this was a prelude to something, although he was not quite sure what, which engendered a queasy mixture of apprehension at the unknown and arousal at what it could be. He sat up, not releasing his hold on the covers around him.

“Throw off the blanket.”

Elim did not comply immediately – he checked Julian's eyes, his facial expression and Julian allowed this; he was not entirely certain what it was that he need to find in his partner's expression. Julian was present in the moment, in himself, there was a softness to his brown eyes in spite of his brisk and clipped tones. He was also failing to hide the initial signs of his own arousal. However, he made no move to display himself or touch himself as he had done before, a routine and action with which Garak was familiar. Now, he waited for Garak to be comfortable enough and ready to carry out what he had been asked to do. Asked? That was not an accurate description of Julian's words. It was not an order either as such, but lay much closer to this pole. “Elim”, he recalled Julian's words. “I have very much noticed that you enjoy when I tell you what to do during sex, order you even.”

Garak threw back the covers, and waited, expecting Julian to approach him now. 

“Remove what you're wearing.”

Garak could not suppress a sharp intake of breath which he then attempted to cover by divesting himself swiftly of his nightwear – then he questioned the wisdom of seeking to hide his reactions from his partner during intimate moments such as this, however, he did not know how else to act or react. Garak knew, rationally, he was in no real danger from Julian, he knew this; however, another part of him had now been engaged in full high alert mode, the all too familiar sensation of adrenaline pounding in him, ready to attack or flee, the two lanes of traffic in him ran simultaneously. Their bedroom had not changed though – this was how Garak could monitor how bad a state he was in. If the proportions of the room began to change and shrink as in some strange trick painting, that was not a good sign, it was the first indication of an impending claustrophobic attack. He had not yet been such afflicted in an intimate moment with Julian but there was also a always a first time for anything, particularly for such a humiliating experience. His entire childhood spent learning to control his mind and body, bend it to his will for the purpose of his duty and yet he could not apply any of this right now, though this education had certainly had an impact on his personal life on previous occasions, lifetimes ago, it seemed to him.

“Elim.” Julian's voice brought him back from his strategizing and his regrets. “I won't touch you. I want to look at you. Can you do that for me?”

Garak remained still. “A strange formulation, to ask me to perform the passive experience of being gazed upon and looked over actively.”

“But it is active, because you are taking part, or at least, I want you to take part.”

“Why do you want this, Doctor?” Garak shot back, irritated, tensing. “Can you not satisfy this need with some programme at the holosuites?”

“No, I can't because it's you I want to look at and I hope that one day, you will take the same pleasure in this experience as I do having you look at me.”

“You are a sheer exhibitionist.”

“That could be true.” There was a smile in Julian's voice. 

“Why do you want to look at me like this? It's -”. Obscene, he wanted to reply, but instead finished with “unbecoming”. 

“I want to look at you because you are so different to me, and I love looking at your body.”

“Ah, a xenophile. Which part of the Cardassian body is your fetishistic favourite? I am afraid I have nothing to compare with Trill markings.”

Each barbed reply he sent out had little effect on Julian, he could not be goaded into an aggressive response. There was perhaps a touch of sadness in his face which further raised Garak's defences – he did not need to be pitied or at least, he did not want to be, and did not want to have to recognise there could be something pitiable in him. 

“Have you quite finished?” Julian asked, warmth still colouring his tones. “I suppose it's terribly obvious by Cardassian standards but I do adore your neck ridges.”

“You're correct, Doctor, terribly obvious but not without foundation.” 

Others had more prominent ridges or longer ones, but Garak had always considered the line and shape of his own to be aesthetically pleasing enough. 

“Do you feel anything if you touch them?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Julian leaned forward, his eye-contact unwavering. “If you touch your own scales, is it a form of self-stimulation, of pleasuring yourself?”

Garak was aghast. “Doctor!”

“Have I said something very shocking, Elim?”

“Yes, indeed you have.”

“Is this a taboo subject on Cardassia? You don't talk about the body in a sexual manner or is it just masturbation?”

“I sometimes forget how truly ignorant you remain in matters relating to me and my people.”

He saw Julian's expression change, something like defeat or resignation in his eyes. He had gone too far with that last remark and it had certainly managed to needle his partner. Garak did not experience any sense of triumph or relief at this apparent point he had scored. His mind worked swiftly – he could tell Julian was about to give up on this experiment or attempt to engage, Garak did not know what to call it, and he found instead he felt empty at the prospect, in spite of the sense of uncertainty coursing through him, and other emotions too humiliating to name out loud. But this was Julian. He knew if he did not try to offer something then this would be withdrawn, never to be broached again and Garak found that some part of him was insisting that he needed to keep this avenue available, that he needed this and everything that could come with it. The image of Julian in his disassociated state forced its way into his mind, an image he often had to keep at bay. Julian, recklessly, had taken on the challenge of something fully beyond his boundaries, which was wrapped up in complicated issues from his childhood. Did he expect Julian to be the only one to do this? It would not only be unfair, it would be the act of a coward. However, he did not think it would be wise or beneficial to either of them to proceed in quite so reckless a manner as his partner had. Even if they were to push beyond their own boundaries, it had to be done in a more controlled manner. However, if he had not delivered himself trustingly to Julian's care when he needed to rid himself of his dependency on the implant, their relationship would never have progressed to what it had become. He could not lose Julian. He had never expected to have him or be with him in such a way, but he could not throw this away due to his own failings and weaknesses. 

Not betraying his uncertainty, he raised his right hand and brushed it from the start of his left neck ridge up to where it ended, allowing his fingers to rest behind his jaw. 

“I am not aware of how it is for other Cardassians in general, but for me, I find this area the most – receptive.”

Julian raised his gaze to him, surprised, and then hopeful, his brown eyes widening in sheer delight. Oh, being on the receiving end of that look. 

“I am not certain whether those ridges are in fact more sensitive or whether it is due to where they are. If you are touching my ridges there, I could also be about to be eliminated and so one does need to trust the motives of whoever it is who has access to such areas of oneself.”

Garak experimentally circled his fingers over the ridges. “One wouldn't exactly use this as a method of ah -”. Julian could have no idea how the word sounded in Cardassi, the connotations of saying it aloud, what he felt enunciating it. “Of pleasuring oneself. However, in this particular context, I find it is having an effect and is heightening my current state of – interest.” 

He could not tell Julian right now that to so shamelessly touch oneself like this was usually the remit of sex workers, to attract and interest customers. 

“Touch your chula, now.” 

Garak complied, moving his hand to the tear-shaped mark on his chest. He traced the outline of it for Julian, who watched. In contrast to his neck ridges, this did not bring about any particularly enjoyable sensations for Garak, however, he understood that Julian very much took pleasure in all the parts of him that were so unlike his own. Garak could understand this, for he in turn found touching Julian's skin never lost its sensual power and fascination for him, or moving over areas where something would be in a Cardassian but in a human was absent. 

Julian's eyes were darker than ever as he watched his partner.

“Elim, spread your legs.” 

He did not react immediately but remained frozen instead. 

“Elim.” Julian's voice had taken on a harder edge to it, and inexplicably, Garak felt a blooming arousal in him, leaving him flustered and increasingly unable to hide this. 

“Elim. Spread your legs.” 

He badly wanted to comply with Julian's command but did not know what this said about him, this fervent wish to fulfil Julian's orders. He did not believe he had ever been in such a position before or had made such a display to anyone. He closed his eyes and made himself spread his legs. Holding this pose, he turned his head to the side and tucked his chin towards his shoulder. He was so exposed, he was laughable, but he heard Julian's breath catching in his throat and then exhaling a long sigh. At the sight of him, like this? For doing it at Julian's command? 

“Elim.” Julian's voice was low, a thickness around the edges of it. “Open your eyes.” 

After a moment, he was able to obey and he opened his eyes, seeking to maintain eye contact with Julian, and to not accidentally catch sight of himself. Julian was a picture too, his eyes half-closed, dark with desire. He was moving in his seat, gripping at his thighs, his hand trailing over his crotch regularly. 

“Elim, look at yourself.” 

Garak's breath had become shallower, quieter. He could not look at himself in this way. He could manage displaying his body for Julian who seemed to find it arousing and he could somehow separate himself from this. But to look at himself, that would mean having to bring these two things together, and he did not think he could manage it. He hoped Julian did not have the idea of introducing a mirror of some sort into the proceedings because no matter what else, that he would point blank not be able to manage. If he had to look at his own body at least let his face remain outside of this exhibition. And so, he looked downward, taking in the parts of him which supposedly constituted a whole, a self, and as ever, his eyes were first drawn to the tracery of scars across his figure. Some had been inflicted by others, mementoes of near escapes or childhood disciplining; others had been scored into his flesh by his own hands, regular patterns of incisions or burns. Julian's body was not like this, his skin was unbroken by such attacks, smooth everywhere, except for his hands, which were rough and criss-crossed with deep lines, forming an odd symmetry to the lines at this eyes. In both cases, these lines were not the result of violence, they were evidence of the care he provided for others. No, the violence done to Julian could not be read on his body.  
Garak did not wish for the removal of his scars. He could not envision his body without them, they had accompanied him for so long. It was just in moments like this, where the contrast between his body and that of his partner's was brought to the fore, something he usually revelled in, seemed too great. But Julian was gazing at him with such delight, his eyes roving over him, he looked at himself once again, wondering if he could ever manage to see himself fully through his lover's eyes. And though he in turn found himself aroused by the situation, he knew there was one thing he could not do.

“Julian, may I speak?” 

Even Julian was startled at this. 

“Elim, yes, you can speak.”

Garak's mind raced – where had that come from, asking for permission to speak? It had felt right in the moment and though it confused him somewhat, it added another touch of excitement to his already increasingly sensitive state. 

“Please do not request me to touch my thighs in a similar manner to my neck ridges or chest.” 

Though his scars were to be found spread out across his body, the majority of those he had inflicted on himself were to be found on his thighs, and the thought of stroking his own fingers over them in some sort of display was so uncomfortable to him that he knew all of his arousal would disappear with it.

“Of course, Elim.” Julian's voice was kind, and on other occasions, he would have experienced this tone as unbearable but on this occasion, he did not. He did not wish to admit it but in relation to this, he was in need of some of the Doctor's kindness. 

“However, I do want you to touch your chuva for me.” 

Garak's mind was taken completely from any other thoughts at hearing Julian say this. Oh, what would his partner be like giving voice to such obscene words in Cardassi? Even just hearing him use the word filtered through the translator had a powerful effect on him and this did not escape Julian's notice. Even without looking, Garak could feel the slickness of himself and he suffered an exquisite moment of helplessness as a bead of arousal dripped from him, spilling over his lips, and tracking down his scales, at which Julian gave voice to small moan. The effect this show was having on Julian was intoxicating to Garak, and he experienced a strange sense of power in his role and he allowed his legs to spread further, in spite of the continued sense of indecency still in the pit of his stomach.

“Elim, touch yourself now. I want you to pleasure yourself for me.”

Garak was amazed he had not everted already but he knew it would not be much longer. He had never in his life performed such an act for another being; not even under duress or as part of an assumed role. Was there a certain way he should go about this, in order to make the sight more appealing for Julian? Oh, he couldn't bear the thought of having to admit to Julian that he did not have experience with areas that seemed to be of no consequence to his partner.  
He trailed his fingers around the lips of his chuva and he nearly gasped at how over-sensitive he was now, how there was an animal desire in him, a basic need to experience something more, to be penetrated, to meet his body with Julian's. He slid one of his fingers inside himself, enjoying the tight wetness of it, and he wondered how he appeared to his lover in this moment as he himself was beginning to feel very good indeed, almost overwhelmingly so.

“Remove your hand, Elim.”

Reluctantly, Garak obeyed, and saw that his reluctance had not escaped his partner's notice, a wicked grin spreading on his face at catching these moments in him. 

“Taste yourself. Put your fingers in your mouth.”

“Julian!” 

Garak was utterly scandalised. The though of tasting his own – no, what could have possessed him? After engaging in sex, Garak always ensured, as enjoyable as it had been, to move to the bathroom and clean himself soon after, unable to remain sitting in the remnants of their lovemaking. Julian was almost the complete opposite, wanting to hold onto Garak for as long as possible, seeming to take pleasure in the heavy scent hanging in the air, on their skin. As appalled as he was by this, another part of him reacted automatically to the tone of Julian's voice, following his order, wanting to. Julian had said to him previously he would never abuse this power, and he did believe him, otherwise it was too frightening to consider what Julian could do to him using this knowledge.  
He inserted his fingers into his mouth and tentatively tongued them, and experienced a strange sense of doubling – this was the taste of sex and arousal, bringing up images of Julian's enthusiastic first attempts at learning to give him oral sex, something he was mostly unused to. He found it difficult to lie back and have this degree of attention lavished upon him, he always felt compelled to do something in return or to stop him from engaging in this act for too long. He had learned to enjoy it, reclining and almost lazily taking all that Julian offered him. And not only did Julian very much want to do this to him and for him but also it did not matter how much time it took.  
Garak attempted to push past his reflexive distaste at the idea of what he was doing and sought instead to ground himself in the moment and focus on the true taste of it, and whether this was indeed in some way pleasurable for him. It clearly was for Julian, who had bent forward, his mouth half-open at the sight. Did it taste so very different to when he lapped at Julian, whether at his cock or between his cheeks, or when he would inhale the scent from his wiry black pubic hair? He could not claim to love the taste in his mouth now, however it was also now clear that his revulsion at it had been an over-exaggeration, a learned response from the messages encoded in good Cardassian society. 

He everted then, unable to hold back any longer. Usually, this would take place as they lay flush together or when Julian's face was buried in his crotch – it had not happened before that he had done so in such a – well, provocative position, on blatant display for his partner, on his orders. He moved to touch himself, aching now to seek some relief.

“No.” Julian said firmly. 

Garak's hand stopped and he swallowed dryly, partly at his increased arousal at this situation, which only seemed to heighten his need to touch himself, edging towards a desperation which was delicious. He wondered how long Julian would deny him permission to touch himself, how long he could withstand it and how much more intense those sensations would or could become. What – he suddenly thought, not even thought but rather was possessed by the idea – what if he could receive more than a touch from Julian, something stronger, harder, oh, oh, oh, he began to shudder involuntarily.

“Elim, fuck.” Julian's voice was audibly strained, at the sight of him, Garak thought to himself.

“Elim.” Julian used his name repeatedly, keeping his attention focused on what he was saying. “Elim, tell me what you're thinking about right now. I saw your face. It – fuck – it changed, it was so gorgeous, Elim what caused that?”

Garak's breath remained quick, shallow, affecting him further as he lay suspended in this intense endless now of anticipation and need. Could he tell Julian? Could he really give voice to what he had just thought but realised now that he had felt and yearned for for years?

“Elim, please tell me. I – just want to hear it and the you're allowed to touch yourself.”

Garak struggled with his voice, even now wanting to preserve a tone of evenness, a battle in vain. 

“I – I wondered what a more forceful touch from you would be like under these circumstances.”

A flash lit up Julian's eyes, a delight. “Oh yes, Elim, I imagine it would feel wonderful. But now, Elim, touch yourself, you're allowed to finish now.”

Garak's hand was over his erect cock in an instant, moving and working fast, the drawn-out process, the delayed permission to touch, the new sensations, all combined to ensure he could not last very long, and with a shudder and a more undignified cry than he would care to admit to, he came hard, his cum coating his hand and stomach. He lay there and the Julian was suddenly on him as he kissed him whilst quickly working himself up to his own release, adding his ejaculate to the mess already covering Garak. Julian collapsed beside him, panting, and they remained in this position for some moment, each considering what they had just experienced together and knowing they would have to address this.


	8. Chapter 8

Garak was aware that Lieutenant Dax was too perceptive to construe his invitation as purely a social one. He did not intend this as a criticism, rather as a sign of admiration; also he hoped he could rely on her to quickly pick up on his intention for their evening and that she would be able to converse on these topics without betraying to Julian that there was even a possibility there was anything else to their meeting this evening. Garak felt instinctively that if this went wrong, Julian would shut himself off from this aspect of himself, this issue, and would perhaps not even ever allow Garak to discus it with him again, which was his greatest concern about this arranged social interaction. Dax was already at the bar with Julian, her face animated. He was glad they had arrived like this, it was more natural than for Julian to come upon him and Dax together.  
He joined them and they sought out a table together, settling themselves as their drinks arrived.

“Well, Lieutenant -”.

“Garak, please, call me Dax, call me Jadzia. We're drinking together in a bar right now.”

“He still calls me Doctor.” Julian told her, which they laughed at. 

“There is nothing wrong in wanting to use someone's earned title, as a mark of respect.”

“And I thank you for it. Still, call me Dax, at least.” 

“How does it work with Klingon culture, do you also have to take the name of Worf's house now? Should I call you by another name?”

“No, Dax will always be my name, no matter what body or family I find myself in.” 

“Speaking of Klingons, how is married life suiting you?”

“I have been married a few times before so it isn't new territory to me.” She replied taking a mouthful of her drink. 

“So, no trouble in paradise yet?” Julian asked. His partner was in a lighter mood today, ready to enjoy this evening. 

“Well.” She paused, an amused expression on her face, indicating to them that whatever she was about divulge was not a serious issue. “Worf, now that we are married, has become more blunt in correcting my Klingon.”

And there it was, Garak thought. Beautifully done by the Lieutenant; he would have to tell her how impressive this natural segue was on another occasion. 

“Before, I think he felt he could not tell the one he was courting that their Klingon was not always up to scratch.”

Julian scrunched up his face slightly. “But as far as I understand it, you speak excellent Klingon.” 

“Thank you.” 

Garak was encouraged at Julian's reaction to the discussion so far – he was involved, focused on Jadzia. 

“However, we have to remember that our standards and Worf's standards are two very different things. He does subject himself to these impossible standards too which is what makes it more forgivable and understandable.”

“I can't imagine Curzon took these corrections quietly.” Garak commented. 

Jadzia scoffed. “Furious, absolutely incensed at this Klingon who doesn't respect such an important friend of his people. How else could I have negotiated such agreements without flawless Klingon?” 

Garak found these moments of slippage in Dax's pronouns of interest; at times, the Trill seemed the one other person aboard the station who could understand what it was to live with so many personas and selves. 

“However, I don't mind, really. Sometimes he can be too pedantic in coaching me to repeat a certain word over and over and over but other than that I don't have the same attitude to Klingon as Curzon did. For him, there was power and status attached to it. For me – I just have a love of the culture, the language.”

“Its food.” Julian supplied. 

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes lit up. Garak enjoyed Dax's evident appetite for life in all its forms. He could see how she had captivated so many for he was not immune to its power either. Garak wondered how Worf felt about the ongoing flirtation between Lieutenant Dax and Major Kira, and he decided that there was likely some sort of private understanding in place between them.

“It was part of Curzon's professional identity. For me, it is personal, part of my personal identity and so it will always be a different relationship. I don't mind.”

“But you aren't Klingon.” Julian said.

“I don't follow.”

“You say it's personal to you, and your sense of self, as Jadzia, but you aren't in any way Klingon, as far as I'm aware.”

Garak watched as Dax considered how best to reply to Julian. He instinctively understood what she meant by her statement, however, Julian, not possessing knowledge of a foreign language, had no reference for it. 

“No, you're right. I'm not. I'm not trying to pretend to be Klingon or act as if it was mine, the language and their culture, that would be wrong. But more that, through this life – these lives - and long interaction with Klingons and their language, I have gained something, a new aspect of myself, an addition to who I am and how I think. It has shaped me in a way which has given me something more and I would be very different if it was not part of me.” She paused and glanced at Garak. “I could be wrong, but I believe Mr. Garak feels the same way about Federation Standard in particular.”

Garak drank from his glass, feeling cautiously optimistic this conversation was already going better than his own failed attempt to discuss such things with Julian. However, he would not be divulging his very private thoughts about what Standard meant to him, at least not here, and he would need to deflect from that.

“Do you really?” Julia asked. “But you love Cardassi so much, and Cardassian literature.”

“I have a particular liking for the richness of Standard's vocabulary, and its elegant sentence structures.”

“Elegant? Standard?”

“I don't think he's referring to any Standard heard on this station, Julian.” 

She was only half-right though – he loved when he listened to Julian speaking Standard, in spite of his less than perfectly formulated expressions. There was something in his tones that soothed him. However, he would not share this in front of Lieutenant Dax, and he was not sure he could say it to Julian alone yet.

“But Klingon.” Julian turned to Dax now. “Why Klingon? I know it was Curzon's area.”

“Ah, it has another meaning for me. It helped me become more self-confident.” 

Julian looked surprised. 

“I know you don't believe I was once shy and easily intimidated but I was. However, it is impossible to feel shy or intimidated when you are speaking Klingon. And that helped me reshape that part of my mind.”

“How so?” 

“Well, Klingon is a language which uses a lot of the imperative. You begin to learn to think in terms of demanding instead of timidly requesting, if only it wouldn't be too much bother, not wanting to put anyone out etc. etc.” She tilted her head at Garak. “I can't imagine that Cardassi has a lot of imperative in it.”

“No, you would be right in that assumption.”

“So, what is peculiar to Cardassi, then?” 

Garak paused. “We have seventeen past tenses.”

Dax laughed. “Perfect! And one future tense, am I right?” 

He said nothing but looked at her sideways and she continued to laugh. 

“Seventeen?” Julian repeated faintly. “It's – a lot of tenses to learn.”

“Having a feel and understanding of where and when the tenses need to be used is more important though, rather than being able to use each of the tenses yourself.” He qualified. “For example, in enigma tales, the past tense chosen to describe and recount past events is an important aspect to the writing. We have past tenses which indicate that the speaker is distancing themselves from what they are saying, or past tenses for an event which happened but we cannot be sure whether the account is true or not, or there is the rather esoteric past tense for events which need not have taken place as there was an alternate choice or course, or there is the conjugation for the past tense to demonstrate that what happened did not take place on Cardassian soil.”

He saw Julian's face light up. “But Garak – that in itself is a detective novel! All those cases reliant on picking up clues to piece together the full image of what happened.” 

Inwardly, Garak melted at the unadulterated delight in his partner's eyes and he allowed himself an indulgent smile, a shade too broad for public use. Dax was looking between them both, appearing satisfied as well. 

“So, are there ways of using Cardassi, the language itself, to solve the mystery of enigma tales?”

Julian's interest was piqued and he was focused on Garak. 

“Oh, yes, of course. Word order is very malleable in Cardassi. In Standard, you do not have the same freedom to reassemble sentences as you please without it sounding grammatically incorrect – one of the few limits of Standard, I admit.” 

“What bearing does that have on it?” 

“Well, in Cardassi, the order you give to the words indicates the importance of what you are saying. We tend to place the most significant information towards the end of a sentence.”

“But this can be changed at will?” 

He nodded and watched with no small amount of pleasure as he saw Julian processing the implication of this.

“In an enigma tale then, you could try and use language as a red herring. You might put one word towards the end of a sentence to misdirect someone to believe that this was important, when instead it is at the start. Or you could double-bluff them, or triple-bluff them. Or if they know what you believe is important they could manipulate you and such manipulation could be evidence of what they are guilty of, or indeed a person's choice of word order might unconsciously reveal something about them.”

Garak smiled at his partner again, enjoying how he was taking so ably to the concepts behind the language in enigma tales. 

“But,” Julian continued. “If Standard can't support the flexible word order of Cardassi then this does mean that too much gets lost in translation, that there isn't really a way to properly partake in the mystery without being able to understand the language it was originally written in.”

“That is an accurate assessment, Doctor.” 

“Julian.” Dax said with a touch of playfulness to her voice, but also real warmth. “I think you could have an innate knack for these Cardassian mystery stories.” 

Julian looked excited at the prospect of cracking these Cardassian enigma tales. “It sounds even better than the holosuites!”

“The highest praise I could ever hope for.” Garak said dryly. He gave a mock sigh. “I suppose we must now abandon any attempt at reading the classics of Cardassian literature and focus on enigma tales instead?”

“You might just, you seem to have a real convert here.” Jadzia finished her drink and ordered another one. 

-

And so they did. Garak selected translated enigma tales for them to read together. For him, of course, some of these texts were almost old companions, or he had at least read them all before. Over lunch, he shared his memories of his first time reading them or how his opinion of the work had altered since he had first or last read it. He hoped that by engaging Julian's interest in reading these Cardassian books that he would learn to shift how he thought about languages. As it was, Garak took much pleasure in Julian's reactions to the works, his attempts to guess and work out who was guilty of what. He was so taken by the conceit behind them and their language, constantly asking Garak for the clues evident in the Cardassi original. 

One evening, they progressed with their enigma tales, in their usual position, sitting together on the sofa, Julian sprawled in some way across Garak's body – this time, he had his head in his lap as he held the padd in front of him. 

“How does it look in Cardassi?” 

Garak lay down his own padd for a moment and took a sip of his red leaf tea. He was encouraged by Julian's regular expressions of interest in Cardassi as a language but particularly by how it was not about the language in isolation, divorced from context. His interest in the language was connected to something he very much enjoyed, mysteries and puzzles, and the Cardassian stories which were the most accomplished distillation of this. Garak picked up his padd again and called up the tale Julian was currently reading, but in its original Cardassi. Julian pushed himself up into a sitting position, took the padd from Garak, and holding the two side by side, considered them. Perhaps it would be good if Julian became used to the letters and format of Cardassi visually before even considering understanding their meaning. Or would it be overwhelming to be faced with an incomprehensible page? He did not appear to be having this latter reaction; he seemed intrigued, focused. Perhaps – perhaps, Garak mused to himself, Julian had needed to shift how he thought about learning. He had never been able to play with learning before in such a manner. Now, he could just enjoy the images of the letters, and whenever he decided (and if he decided to), they could proceed to learning their meanings. But it would be best, Garak ascertained, to not learn it in any systematic way. That would destroy the positive connotations he had thus far built up around the language. 

“Elim.” Julian's eyes were intent on the padd screen displaying the Cardassi lettering. “This is so intricate, it's – it's beautiful. Look at these patterns!” 

Garak could not help indulge himself for a moment. “I am glad you think so too, my dear. I have always thought it beautiful also.” 

“But it is a pattern, isn't it? It isn't arranged like how Standard is. How does it work?”

“It is laid out differently.” He pointed at the padd, marking the various parts with his finger tip. “It is built in vertical blocks of text, from the top of the page to the bottom, reading from left to right. So far, so similar to Standard. However.” He ran his finger tip down the padd screen. “Between these columns, we have horizontal lines of text.”

“Wait, it's like a crossword puzzle? So -”. Julian turned to Garak, clearly drawing out the logical implications from this new information. “The text can be read using just the vertical blocks and you'd still read a story. But the horizontal lines are the clues, they're the second level. And they don't make sense on their own, only in tandem with the vertical blocks. Plus, the other issue is to work out where the horizontal lines actually fit in, and which lines they belong to.”

As Julian talked, Garak felt a burst of warmth in his chest. Oh, Julian was a sight to behold in moments like this. 

“I don't believe you have left much out, you have grasped the structures wonderfully.”

Julian continued to look at the padd in evident satisfaction. Another thought seemed to strike him. “So, how much is implied in the symbols?”

“You will have to clarify.”

“I mean, in Standard, we write out all the sounds of a word. Since Cardassi, or rather, Cardassians, find the idea of even saying anything directly to be in poor taste, I thought it might count for the written word as well.”

Garak shook his head.

“Oh, I was wrong on that one.”

“No, no, my dear.” Garak put his hand on his thigh and caressed it through the soft fabric of his trousers. I was wrong, he had said, with such ease. This was a welcome development indeed. 

“I was only pleasantly surprised at the perceptive way you pick up on these details. You are correct; we drop unnecessary vowels. The word is written using only consonants and the vowels are understood from context.” 

“I believe this was the case for some ancient Terran languages also, so it seems it is not an isolated Cardassi phenomenon. Though.” He turned his attention to the padd again, taking pleasure from the Cardassi symbols on the screen. “I can't imagine they had such wonderful patterns as Cardassi appears to.”  
From then on, Julian took to using two padds to read his enigma tales, one in Standard, one in the original Cardassi. Garak would witness sometimes how Julian traced the letters with his fingers, his mouth half opening, wondering what sound they were meant to produce. Garak did have idle thoughts regularly about how Julian would sound speaking Cardassi but he kept this to himself for the moment. 

On one lunch date, Julian had put forth his arguments and reasonings for his solution to a tale he was currently reading – and which were wrong but had good logic behind them. He had returned to his food for a moment before saying:

“You know, I never got to read like this before, not until I met you.” 

Garak waited a moment before responding, wanting to ensure he did not inadvertently say anything out of place. The setting of the replimat for this conversation was jarring to Garak as they had never before had such a private discussion in public. He decided to take it as a good sign for Julian, though he himself baulked a bit at the situation. 

“Were you never allowed or encouraged to read for pleasure, as a child?”

Julian responded by shaking his head. How odd. He was aware that Cardassian children had a different, more ascetic upbringing than most Earth children, but reading for pleasure was still viewed as a worthwhile endeavour for young minds. 

“My father saw it as a waste of time. 'Ach', he'd say. 'I already know what a tree looks like, why would I need to read a description of one?'”  
Garak marvelled once more that a man such as Richard Bashir had produced such a son as Julian Bashir. 

“It seems self-defeating and short-sighted.”

“How so?”

“Well, on Cardassia, literature also serves as an educational tool. Children's books contain Cardassian values. They also train their vocabulary by repeating words. They further act as demonstrations of how to interact with your peers in an acceptable manner.”

Garak had an image of a young Jules not allowed to while away time with children's' tales and he experienced a stronger sense of sadness at this than he had anticipated. 

“Did your parents not read to you?”

“No, why would they do that?” He responded dryly. Garak was about to put forward the didactic purposes of such an act as well as the benefits for the parent-child relationship but did not as he realised Julian's clipped reply told him that he knew this already and did not think much of his parents for not practising it. He hmmed instead and Julia acknowledged this with a look. 

“The problem was that whatever about languages, where my father and I seemed to agree, I did actually like reading. It was one of the few things where it was socially acceptable to do something over and over, reread the same book without being labelled as odd.”

“I do wonder which is the greatest joy, the excitement of reading a new discovery for the first time or returning to the familiarity of an old favourite.” A thought struck him. “Julian – the pace at which we read for our lunch dates – has it been too fast? Have you wanted to spend more time on a work or returning to ones we have already read?”

Julian smiled at him. “For the augment, no, it is not too quick a pace. But sometimes, the part of me that might still be Jules did want to slow down a little. But it is alright, Elim.” 

Garak had a quick vision of himself as a small Cardassian, attempting to keep up with his father's stately gait as they moved through Coranum. He lay his fork down. “I fear that was a case then of my, not misjudging the situation, but more that I could only see it from my own experience or abilities.”

“Elim, you didn't have the information then that you have about me now. Also – I don't think our relationship at the time would've allowed for me to ask you for such a thing and to explain why. It was too early. I was still learning to -”.

“Keep up with me?” His words were informed by the image he had just had in his mind. 

“Yes. Which I managed quite well.” He looked at Garak with evident fondness in his eyes.

“And to think, I was concerned I would not be able to hold your attention.”

“Elim.” Julian paused and sat back in his chair. “Are you telling me you were trying to impress me on those first lunch dates, so that I would keep coming back?”

Garak removed his napkin from his collar and dabbed unnecessarily at his mouth. 

“You were, you – thought I'd lose interest.” Julian's voice trailed off.

“Oh now Doctor, really. This kind of sentiment is affecting my appetite.”

“You know, I misunderstood our literature discussions at first?”

“In what way?”

Julian's gaze drifted to the side before returning to his partner. “Well, I didn't get that it was a discussion.”

Garak said nothing but his lack of comprehension must have been evident for Julian continued, awkwardly. 

“You know about my family, particularly my father. There weren't any discussions, ever. There were only arguments. So, I began to see everything as an argument, to be fought and won.”

“You believed we were arguing? But for Cardassians -”.

“Oh, I am well aware of that now. But at first I thought I had to win those arguments with you.” 

“And I thought you were just being young.”

“And arrogant?”

“No, my dear. Just young.”

They lapsed into silence. 

“I suppose.” Julian began. “I will just have to learn Cardassi one day if I want to understand you fully.”

“Oh, pity, Doctor, you insult me. You think that I am so easy to understand, so dull?”

“Not one bit Elim, but if I know more then I would be able to deepen the mystery of you.”


	9. Chapter 9

Julian continued to look at Garak, an amused smile on his lips, clearly too aware of the effect he was having on the Cardassian. They finished and left the replimat. As they walked the promenade, Julian asked in a casual tone: “So, what about Cardassian erotica?” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Cardassian erotica.” He repeated, louder and more clearly, and Garak turned his gaze to the floor, hoping no passer-by had heard this indiscretion. 

“What can you be referring to?” 

“Erotic literature. I assume it exists in Cardassi. I suppose though it would've been far too obvious for you to have given me a sexier book to read when we were first having lunch together. However, now that the context of our relationship has changed, I had hoped you would share something more charged with me.”

Julian's eyes were alight, thoroughly enjoying himself. Underneath this though, Garak could tell he was serious and that this was not just teasing, it was part of a serious conversation. If only it had been a complete joke, that would have been far easier to dismiss out of hand or to respond to with a light remark.

Since the morning when Julian had ordered Garak to display and touch himself for his partner, he had had repeated erotic dreams, from which he awoke hot, sweating, and even one time, he had awoken and found he had everted whilst asleep, something which had not happened to him since he was a much younger man. The dreams were intense, sometimes only pure sensation taking place in the dark, other times the stimulus was visual. No matter what form the dreams took, Julian was present, as was Garak, and he could not understand why he was having such dreams now that he and Julian were lovers. He dreamt of his partner holding him down, he dreamt of pain, blows administered, he dreamt of Julian praising him before giving him more longed-for pain. He did not know what to do with these dreams and so he sought not to think of them during the day, which only encouraged his mind and body to indulge in them once he slumbered, making the dreams more intense. He could not tell if Julian had noticed these nightly events or whether he was keeping quiet, aware of them, but not addressing them until some unspecified point in the future, or perhaps until Garak brought them up. 

His mouth had become dry. “Unlike Terran literature, on Cardassia, we were not reduced to writing incontinent prose on the subject of sexual peccadillos.” He could hear himself and hated the tone of his voice, its stuffiness, but he could not be otherwise at this moment. 

“Oh, I agree that the style is usually nothing to write home about but did you not have those first illicit moments when you came across something sexy in a text and you reacted to it?” 

He was flabbergasted. “What kind of literature do you think we were reading? I assure you, nothing of that kind was available in our schools or on our shelves at home.”

“So, it isn't really a thing, erotica, on Cardassia?” 

“Doctor, on Cardassia, such subjects are hardly discussed out loud in an intimate setting, let alone thrown indiscriminately into a novel for all to acquire. If it does appear in good literature, it is far more subtle, and indeed, far more -”.

“Sensuous?”

Oh, hearing that word from Julian's mouth, long and drawn out, he wished he could turn off his translator and ask him to repeat it once more. 

They came to rest in front of a viewing station, the window granting a vision of stars amongst the blackness. 

“I will admit, that in certain texts from the literary canon -”. Garak emphasised. “- there are scenes which can be read as sensuous, focusing on the power of beauty, admiration for the physical body.”

“But not the act? The aim is to hint, to arouse, to suggest, but not to complete or relieve it?”

Julian leaned back against the wall behind him, his body language open, facing Garak. He only nodded in reply. 

“So, you never had that particular rite of passage, of some friend sliding a padd or book to you under the table, with directions to pay attention to a certain scene?”

Garak was once more appalled. “You shared these moments?”

“Well, initially, when you're younger. Someone in your group always seems to know before you do and to have access to these things somehow.” He shrugged his shoulders, unbothered by this topic. Part of Garak wished he could explain to Julian how utterly alien this liberal atmosphere was, how it had been absent from his younger years. He knew though, Garak was certain, without him having to say this. Instead, he suspected this direct discussion of erotic literature was rather to act as a demonstration to Garak that his partner was unfazed by talking about sexual relations in this manner and was to act as an encouragement to him to discuss such things with him, knowing he need not fear any judgement. He recalled the thrill laced with shame of admitting to Julian what he had been fantasising about; he wanted to be more prepared before embarking on such a conversation.

-

And so Garak began to read, calling up Terran texts on padds he kept carefully hidden and sought to only read them when he could be sure of being undisturbed. What he read left him unsettled, but not in the positive way he had previously begun to associate with such moments of loss of control in a sexual context. He experienced a disappointment, a distaste. The desires and acts which he wished to read about were described and delineated but there was no attraction for him in these words and he could not understand why. It was not just that the writing styles were perfunctory at best, there was something lacking in the personal aspect, there was a stark absence of affection or genuine desire or care; these figures appeared to be driven to an act purely to indulge in it, to them it did not matter who their partner was. Indeed, one could hardly call them partners as such – they were crudely drawn and served only as a vessel for the other character to fulfil their carnal lust. For Garak, it was not about reading how an abstract fetish was enacted; he wanted to understand how the players interacted with one another, how this sexual desire would become part of their relationship, how they were in the aftermath, the joy both parties took not just from the acts, but from witnessing the joy of the respective other. Had Julian meant texts such as these when he referred to those initial teenage encounters with erotica? Oh, he hoped not. These works would not do – they would not do at all. 

He began to do something he would under normal circumstances not allow himself to, as it went against the strong sense of discipline he had learned and valued – he began to skim the works, seeking for something to hold him and give him what he needed, to reassure him it was not as bad as he feared it to be.  
He had even ensured he read these works in Federation Standard, the language which the majority of these works had been written in originally. And even when this wasn't the case, he reasoned that a translation from another language into Standard was closer to the original than whatever the translator could come up with for Cardassi. It had not helped and he could not lay the blame for his disenchantment with these works at the door of bad translation.

One evening, he and Julian were in their customary position on the couch – both reading a padd, Julian with his head in his lap, the silence only broken by them reading something out loud which they believed would be of interest to their partner. Julian was engaged in his now regular activity of of going between two padds, one with Cardassi text, and one with the Standard translation. Garak watched as Julian focused on the shape and appearance of the letters, absorbed utterly. 

“Elim.” Julian set his padds down and raised himself up, sitting across from him. “You know how I started learning Bajoran and I ended up keeping that hidden from you, even though you were aware of what I was doing?”

“Yes, I do remember.” Garak could not be certain but he thought he already knew where Julian was going with this and was unsettled that he had apparently not been as careful or subtle about his reading habits as he thought he had been. But why must you hide from him? He thought to himself miserably.

“And that turned out to not be a very good idea, didn't it?”

Garak said nothing this time. 

“Love, I would hate to think you were doing something similar. I worry about you fretting over something I could clear up and counter easily if you told me about it.”

Garak stared at his clasped hands in his lap. He considered the various ways to attempt to communicate his fears to Julian. 

“You are quite right, my dear.” He fell silent once again. It could not have been like this for Julian with previous lovers, not anywhere near as torturous and slow as he made it for him. He sought to swallow back this script which had been playing in his head repeatedly. 

“Julian, are these Terran erotic writings truly intended to stimulate the baser desires?” He could hear himself again, and again, could hear the scorn and prissiness in his tones, and yet he could not stop himself. 

“Well, it depends. Like all writing, or any creative endeavour really, some are better than others, some are classics and some are just woefully awful.”

“How disappointing.” He murmured.

“Also, just because something is considered a classic or important, doesn't mean you have to like it or enjoy it, or perhaps that runs counter to Cardassian wisdom? Some things you can just dismiss and keep looking for what you want to read or enjoy reading. What have you been reading, Elim?” 

He felt so silly but it wasn't Julian's fault, it wasn't Julian causing him to experience this, rather his gentle tones made Garak even more painfully aware of how unwarranted his reactions were.

“As you astutely noted, we Cardassians rely only on what is considered part of the canon.” He bit out and detested his voice again. “So, I oriented myself using that and also -”. His voice lost its put-on detached quality. “I filtered for writings relating to what – I was particularly interested in.”

“What you were particularly interested in?” Julian repeated, his brown eyes searching, soft, oh so encouraging. 

“Julian, I can only get so far in one conversation, please, I ask you.” 

“OK, Elim, OK.” He nodded in acceptance, and reaching out a hand, tucked some stray strands of hair back behind Garak's ear. “What did you read? And why didn't you like it?” 

“Well, I initially desired to read contemporary writings in this area, and it was so very – distasteful. I had not been aware there was a thriving area of literature dedicated to xenophilic couplings.”

Julian looked equal parts aghast and mirthful, though he was doing his best to conceal the latter reaction. “Oh no, Elim, you didn't pick up Seng Monsrin's series, did you?” 

“It was indeed his writings. Is he known for being particularly lacking as a writer?”

“Oh, he's just pure trash, pumped out to shock and make money – he has his eyes squarely aimed at holosuite adaptations.”

“Ah. That certainly explains some issues.”

“No wonder you disliked that, he writes for business – he covers as many combinations and acts in order to appeal to every conceivable public and predilection. I don't believe the man is in any way interested in sex or is even excited by a fraction of the scenarios he has conjured up. I'm not even sure some of them are physically possible. But it is so very clear from his writing how little he cares about his subject matter.”

Garak did feel better already, hearing Julian scoff so at these books which he had frankly been alarmed by, and alarmed at his own negative reaction to them. 

“What I found particularly off-putting -”. He attempted to say in a casual manner. “- was his absolute fetishization of other species' anatomy and the purpose to which these limbs and appendages can be put within sexual intercourse.” One exceedingly lurid tale had focused on a species with tentacles and how certain other species would come to them to be bound up and held down by them. Garak had found nothing arousing in this story, but when he considered Julian putting him in a comparable position, he had felt a certain light-headedness at the thought. Where did the difference lie or was he missing something? 

“I think.” Julian began. “-what you are describing is the difference between kink and an unhealthy fixation. Such a fixation in its most literal understanding is a blind 'worship', and it is usually worship of an object, or at least of a something, not a person even. It can also be a physical aspect of a person I feel, but it still focuses on that thing alone, with no identity attached to it. For example, I am sure there are certain people who would be very happy to spend an evening with thigh-high stockings but for myself, I need to be with someone wearing the stockings, not just the objects. For you, and for me, and many others I am sure, it isn't just about whatever the kink is on its own, it is also about sharing it with someone. If it is just about the need on its own, which these books fulfil, it becomes more limited in its power and I think that's where such books fail.” 

Garak made a 'hm' noise, indicating to his partner that he agreed with his assessment. 

“And yet, they are so popular, which is why I came across them so easily.”

“I'm afraid there's no accounting for taste. If you go back through the history of literature, you will encounter many such works which, upon first being published, caused a scandal and were read by everyone, yet when we return to them now, there's often very little to be turned on by in them.”

“Quite. And that was my next move, I decided to turn to much older classics, in an attempt to find something else.”

“How far back did you go? Which cultures?” 

“Well, I remained with Terran literature and familiarised myself with the writing of the Marquis de Sade.” 

“I know the name, of course, but can't say I've ever read him.”

“I do not believe I would recommend him. It is difficult to tell which I found more grim, his sexual predilections or his political screeds.”

“What made you read him then?”

Garak pressed his lips together, feeling their dryness. “Well. Seeing as his name is synonymous with a certain area, I thought I should read him, for insight.”

“To see what it is like from the other role, the other perspective?”

Whatever Garak had been about to say to further criticise the Marquis was forgotten. He nodded once, hoping Julian would return to the subject of literature.

“That is a very good strategy. I did something similar myself. Though I am not particularly interested in being in a submissive role, I took part in some scenes in that role a few times, in order to get a feel for how to better occupy the opposite role, to become better aware of what someone is looking for in that position, what they are looking for from their partner.”

Of course Julian had more experience here, even in this specific area. A part of him wanted to reject this information, to withdraw from this uneven and exposed situation he had fallen into. Another part of him, in a much calmer and less reactive manner, instead felt reassured by Julian's admission. He had long known, since the implant, that he could trust Julian with his life – these words further showed him he could trust Julian with these desires in himself which had long lain dormant and unacknowledged. Julian could guide him, them, and could be relied upon. 

“I agree, Doctor, I can't quite visualise you in that position.”

Julian's voice dropped. “I can rather imagine you in that position though.”

“You – you would find that arousing?” He asked quietly, his gaze once more on his hands in his lap. 

“Oh yes, very much so, Elim.”

“You wouldn't – but I do not wish -”. He faltered. “I read another work.” He began more decisively, swerving in order to try and address his fear. “By Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch.”

"That also sounds familiar.”

“Yes, well, he gave his name to another area. Oh, and on a side note, Julian, why were all these authors male? They make up only a part of the population of your planet and how can I be trusted to form a proper impression of Terran eroticism when too often it focuses on male authors? I did indeed find later female and other writers but why are their names not more established in the canon -”.

“Elim.” Julian took his clasped hands in his own. “I am happy to discuss that very interesting topic with you another time. However, right now, you are getting away from what we were just discussing and I would like to know what you were about to ask me or tell me.”

“The main character of the novel devotes himself to the female character, suffering every humiliation and degradation possible and he takes pleasure in it. She makes it clear she does not love him and yet he claims to love each humiliation she throws at him. It cannot be love, what is described in that book, and is this what masochism is, is it about being humiliated and degraded? Because I do not want that, at all. Have you -?” He did not know how to finish this sentence. Have you done this, humiliated and demeaned someone like in this story? Have you imagined degrading me?

“Elim, Elim.” Julian's voice was soft but insistent, and he placed the palm of his hand against Garak's chest. The action was soothing to him. “Elim, I would never humiliate you or degrade you. I don't want you to feel bad or used. I love you, very much.”

Garak exhaled, doing his best to keep his breathing even, the built up tension not yet leaving his body. “My aim was not to force you into making any declarations, Doctor.”

Oh, why was he so needy, why couldn't he have just kept to the lighter tone set at the start of the conversation? He had only himself to blame. He was the focus on the exchange now, the focus of Julian's concern, and having to hear these gentle words, truly meant, from his partner was unbearable – he was too raw, as if stripped of his spiny ridges and hard scales, the too-soft flesh underneath insufficient against everything threatening, and indeed in that moment, everything was a threat. 

“Elim.” Julian pressed harder against his chest. “Please – stay with me. I know you want to get away from this but please, for me, try to and stay with it for a little bit. I do understand that it is very difficult to directly address these topics, even for those of us who might be more open about it.”

Garak considered a moment and then he raised his own hand and covered Julian's with it, holding it firmly against his own chest. 

“I think, though it might be tougher for you, in order to avoid these misunderstandings and dispel your fears as best I can, we need to talk a little bit more specifically and concretely about you and what it is you want. Because, Elim, these books and writers – they are so very flawed. They are writing from their own ignorance more often than not and perpetuating harmful myths and narratives of what is involved in these kinks and sex acts, or rather, what should be involved when you do it properly, in a controlled environment that takes the participants fully into consideration.”

“But.” His voice was not quite as strong as he would wish it to be, however, he pressed on, hoping it would recover itself. “But Julian, you mentioned to me that it was in such works that you, and others generally, first encountered these scenes which indicated to you what you found arousing, what you desires were.”

“Oh, Elim, yes, but they're not to be taken as guides. I expressed myself badly or incompletely. I only meant that they were initial indications, yes, and for younger people first dealing with their awakening sexuality, if they are interested in sex. But they were only fantasies, play nearly. Those first thoughts get replaced by actual experience when the time comes. It can be a safe way to engage with this side of yourself, but, no, Elim, I did not intend for you to literally follow these books or to believe utterly in what they represent.”

Garak lowered his gaze once more. Oh, the mortification, how had he misunderstood? Really, this was too, too embarrassing. Well, the answer is quite clear, a voice sniped in his head, a mixture of his own voice, and others he had encountered as he went through life. It's because you're so inexperienced in this area and it would appear your much younger partner is going to have to lead you by the hand through it all.

“Elim.” Julian's voice broke in on him. “Please, you're not staying with me.” His face was so open, so bright, nothing hidden. “Let's go back to the specific book you mentioned. I don't think it's a good one to take as an example. Some people do indeed get off on role-playing such situations, where it is clear and understood that they are both playing a part, agreed on beforehand, but the participants do not despise each other, it is a sex game, with rules to be followed. And in that context, people very much enjoy acting out scenarios where they partake in acts which can be perceived as humiliation or degrading, but it is their kink, their desire, and their partner or partners give them this. That is not what is described in the book you mention. Even for us, Elim, when I tell you what to do in bed, obviously you don't actually have to do it, but you get pleasure from being ordered to do things by me in that moment and I very much enjoy participating, although it's only an act. I can't actually order you to do anything, and I wouldn't want to order you to do things you don't want to do.”

Garak squeezed Julian's hand and then let go with his partner following suit. He leaned back against the sofa, considering this. Julian regarded him carefully, seeking to gauge what impact his words had had.

“Julian, even as an agreed-upon game, I do not want to be humiliated or degraded but my – these feelings that I want to perhaps explore, I – does it not include such acts by necessity?”

“Not at all. It is a vast, broad area and it is all about finding what you like and also just as importantly, what you absolutely do not want. And no book can tell us that. You don't want to be humiliated when in a role play. That's the first rule I now know, which is good for me because I won't inadvertently do something to distress you. I can still very much give you orders without having to humiliate you.”

“It would remind me too much of my previous life.” He wanted to give Julian some explanation, even if he could never detail the specifics. “In my earlier professions, sometimes one ended up in unpleasant situations and those who had you in their hold did not know any boundaries in their attempts to procure the information or result they wanted.” He did not wish to relive those experiences of getting caught and falling into the hands of those who tortured him in a bid to break him and rob him of his resistance. 

“And with that particular history, love, I am very concerned about keeping these two separate, I don't want our sex life to touch on any bad memories. Can you tell me more of what you'd like or absolutely would not? What thoughts have you had?”

Garak was silent, at a loss as to where to start or even how to begin. Julian seemed to understand this and took over. “For example, do you wish for this to remain only in the bedroom or would you like to continue the games outside of it?”

Garak had never considered this. “I don't know, Doctor. How would that manifest?” 

“In many ways, that you would still have to obey orders from me, or that you would have to ask me permission for certain things, address me in a certain manner; that I would continue a control in our daily life.”

Garak experienced a heat in his stomach. He was certainly not averse to the thought but it was also quite a lot to consider. 

“I am intrigued, and even inclined to it, but I don't think it would be the first thing I would like to engage in.”

“That is fair. We can leave that for later. I just want to show you what we can do to explore this without even ever going near the other things which are a hard no for you. If we are going to stay in the bedroom for the time being, how do you feel about pain? Or being tied up?” Julian's voice was low, almost husky. Garak looked at his partner in wonder - he was genuinely aroused by this, by these thoughts of engaging in such activity with him, he wasn't repulsed or shocked. In turn, he found his initial tension had all but disappeared and the more pleasant part of this discussion crept over him, taking over to the extent that it became easier to say out loud that which he wanted and did not. 

“Being bound appeals to me. However, I do not want my hands bound behind my back.” 

Julian nodded. “Good, Elim. Only in front of you.” His eyes were becoming darker with each word.

“And please, nothing around my neck or in my mouth.”

“Good. How would you like it if I tied you to the bed, Elim?” 

A shudder went through him and he nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

“Or what if your hands were bound in front of you and I ordered you to kneel for me?” 

Garak could not supress a small gasp. 

“You like that thought a lot, do you, kneeling for me when told, having your hands bound, and me ordering you to do things for me, perhaps, to pleasure me when I order you to, without the assistance of your hands?” 

Julian's fingers caressed the side of Garak's face and it was all he could do to not moan at these words, at Julian's expression, his blatant lust. He had not expected this conversation to take such a turn, not in his wildest fantasies and yet, here he was with Julian, being introduced to an array of possibilities, being taken aback by his partner's complete and genuine enthusiasm, his desire to share in this.

“Elim.” He could tell Julian was attempting to rein himself in again, at least a bit. “If we are going to do this, I need you to think of a safe word, something you can use to break off the activities immediately, that is unmistakable for anything else. I need to know if you want to stop, if you're uncomfortable or need a break.” Julian's eyes were serious, intent on him.

Garak thought for a moment, seeking to push any self-consciousness away, recognising this was necessary, and that Julian needed this from him as much as he himself would need it. 

“Invoices.” He said decisively.

“Invoices.”

Garak nodded.

“Well, that's certainly an unsexy word, so it suits the purpose.”

Garak decided he had to keep going with this confession, to let himself be carried along by the momentum almost of this evening, fearing if he paused for too long he would find himself incapable of expressing anything further out loud. 

“Julian, you mentioned pain as well.”

“I did. What pain do you want me to administer, love? I am so happy to do that for you.” Though Julian continued to caress his cheek or hair alternately, sometimes stroking along the back of his neck, he did not try to reciprocate these gestures, not out of a lack of desire, but again, out of a need to keep focused on the conversation. Julian, being more at ease, more familiar apparently with such areas, was able to maintain the two simultaneously, attending to this discussion and giving these touches to his partner. 

“I hope it is not contradictory to say that though I am attracted to the idea of you administering pain, I however do not.” He faltered. “I don't want it to be a demeaning act."

Oh, where was this all coming from? He knew though, scarcely able to admit it to himself, that these desires had long been dormant in him but it had not been until now, with this partner, at this stage of their relationship that he felt he could finally attempt to give voice to this side of himself. The ever-looming threat of war played a part in it too. He may have taken a lot longer to get to this point but the urgency of their situation seemed to have spurred him on. Perhaps others did more noble things with the insistent threat of potential destruction hanging over them, which he was also not immune to. Yet a more primal, greedy part of him, a part which he was learning not to reject, did not want to go to his death without at least the opportunity of living out his desires or fantasies, even just once, of seeing where this could lead, where it would bring their relationship, where it would bring him. For once, he consciously wanted to choose to be selfish, not in the sense of it being at the cost of someone else, but simply to indulge in a desire, to not have to act for Cardassia, for Tain, for his people, not to act as a member of a group and for the greater good. The more he was with Julian, the more this sentiment came to the fore and he had been guilty of quite atrocious day dreams he would have been hotly embarrassed to admit to due to their domestic nature. But he needed something, something to get through the war, the hope of a life together: and he needed something else, the visceral sensation of long-held fantasies being enacted, or realising them with Julian, who was also eager. 

“It isn't a contradiction, Elim.” Julian traced his fingertips along his jaw. “I do believe, that what you really want is actually the opposite, you would like to hear words of praise from me in the aftermath of such moments, me telling you how very good you are, how well you behave for me, no?”

Garak's breathing became shaky. There was no change of tone to Julian's voice, he was not teasing him, only seeking out confirmation for a hypothesis he already held. And oh yes, it was true, he wanted to hear that beloved voice murmuring such sentiments to him, he want so very badly to be praised in such a way. Ever since he had been a small child, it had been positively pathetic how much he lapped up any words of praise and he had received scant few of those in his childhood and beyond. He had often waited expectant but in vain for such caressing phrases from too many figures in his life. 

He nodded mutely, confirming what Julian had just put to him.

“Excellent.” He replied, his brown eyes soft on him. “Elim, there's one other important thing I want you to understand. We can take this as far as you wish to go. There is also no issue if you try this and find that the fantasy is more appealing than the reality. There is no pressure either way. Even if all that ever comes from this is a little experimentation, that is fine, and I think even having just had this conversation has, for me anyway, already made it worthwhile, no matter what happens. I find it very arousing to be able to talk to you about your fantasies.” 

He pressed his lips to Garak's his warm mouth lingering for a long moment before breaking off. They had both become somewhat excited during their talk but Julian gave no indication that he wanted to engage in any further activities, he appeared content to remain beside his partner, sharing small touches, stroking his cheek, his hair, placing his hand on his thigh. And though Garak was also in such a state, another part of him did not want to act on it right now either. For though their talk had gone very well, he still experienced a rawness around the edges of his mind, the aftermath of having been so direct and open, still such a struggle for him and antithetical to all he had been brought up to value. He was not certain what effect love-making would have on him in this mindset. An unease remained in him, an unwarranted reaction to Julian's acceptance and enthusiasm, his reassurances. He knew on some level that it was indeed not a reaction to Julian and his faultless behaviour in this instance, it was a learned response, a script running in his mind. There had been others when he was a younger man who had played the long game, drawing him in to intimacy only to abuse it or turn it against him. Somewhere the echoes of that hurt rang in him still. He hoped that one day Julian's brightness could eclipse these pale ghosts.


	10. Chapter 10

When Julian first asked him to pronounce the Cardassian word for something so that he could repeat it after him, Garak, at first, was concerned, but then realised swiftly that this new approach of his partner's towards another language was infinitely more positive, for several reasons. However, he would need to be on constant alert to any false notes in Julian or first indications of stress or being overwhelmed by this endeavour. 

“Can we turn off our universal translators?” Garak acquiesced and perceived the faint click in his ear of the machine shutting off. 

Julian held out the padd to him, which displayed the Cardassian script for the word 'book'. Julian, with his enhancements, did not need Garak to sound out one simple word for him in Cardassi. He could, if he so wished, avail of his augmented brain and process the entirety of the language, committing it to memory with ease. Yet he did not want to, he was actively choosing to eschew this, and to turn to Garak instead to commence learning the language.

He heard Julian's request unfiltered, and it was lovely to be able to hear his partner in this way. He responded, finding he relished the opportunity to speak in Standard himself. 

He cleared his throat. “Well, my dear, it sounds like this.” He enunciated the word, slowly, drawing out the sibilant parts of the word.

“Can you repeat it a few times?” 

So, they stood in their quarters, paused in their preparations for work, Julian listening to Garak's repeated intonation of the word. Julian then attempted to imitate what he heard, doing so over and over until Garak inclined his head, a smile tinged with pride on his features. It was so unexpected to hear these words, these sounds, emerging from Julian's mouth. He found himself taking too easily to the role of teacher and knew he needed to rein himself in. Just behind his lips bubbled a string of information, wanting to tell Julian about the origins of the word, how it deviated from other languages' term for book, what 'a' and 'the' were, so he could use the word in these contexts, what the plural would be, how Cardassi had no gender for its nouns. But to tell Julian any of this right now would be fatal. He needed to feel he could simply play with the language as he wished, not following any imposed or strict course in acquiring it. He had never been allowed to learn at his own pace before, had he? Jules had certainly not been given any such support or understanding. Was this the first time in his life that he was not being forced to learn in a manner unsuitable to him, at a pace unsuited to him?  
Garak could not imagine that the Bashirs had been empathetic in this aspect,, only concerned with what arbitrary milestone their young boy was supposed to reach instead of considering attempting to understand how he perceived the world. If foreign language acquisition had been ambivalent, to say the least, for Garak, then the experience of being forced to learn to talk in his first language when he barely comprehended the intent of such communication must have been a terrible experience for young Jules. What kind of associations must he have with this time? Did he even consciously remember it? Yet, it was clear enough that the memories of it lived in his skin, in his body's reactions to any situation which resembled this past part of his childhood. He took one bitter pleasure in this and hoped Julian recognised it too – his parents had forced him into being able to function like typical others and his peers. However, this then meant that he could talk back, and force them to hear words they did not like, or indeed, how much more of a blow, to realise that even after altering their child, he still chose not to communicate with them, a second withdrawal.

Perhaps he needed to take some care himself – was there any danger he was living unconsciously through his partner, wishing to give Julian the experience he himself would have wanted in his youth? He would have embraced an opportunity to have been able to play with a language, to enjoy it slowly, without having to master it to the point of living a lie through it. To have been able to savour single words, to enjoy their sound and affect without having to deploy them as a weapon or an attack.  
He observed Julian's face as he traced the lettering on his padd, mouthing the word to himself again. Moments like this were worth more than fluency or command of any language, and being able to witness such moments, and even to share them, was worth even more. 

Julian's tentative flirting with Cardassi continued in this manner. Garak was never sure when these moments would come, when Julian would approach him, padd in hand, having selected another word which appealed to him, and he wanted Garak to demonstrate for him how to pronounce. He wondered what Julian's criteria was for selecting his vocabulary but realised he probably did not have a conscious one, he picked words that he liked or was drawn to somehow. There was a mix of nouns and verbs, adjectives too. He soon built up a little trove of Cardassi words. It had also become a regular part of their interactions for them to switch off their universal translators during these exchanges. Garak could not conceive of them as lessons or study, though in a sense, they were. Green, that had been the next word Julian had asked for. Cat, after that. Stop, hold, yes, sweet. Soil. Page, cup, soft, now. The day he had asked for 'is' had been a turning point. He began to make sentences from the vocabulary he had and Garak found these creations utterly charming. Had he ever heard someone playing with his native language in such a light manner before? He did not believe so but perhaps it was precisely what was missing from Cardassian writing.  
The first time he had made such a sentence - “The cat is green” - Julian had paused, looking to Garak, worry in his eyes. 

“I'm sorry, this is all so silly, isn't it?” 

Outwardly unruffled, Garak shook his head. They could not come this far and allow everything to fall apart again, he could not lose the fun Julian took in the language. 

“Not one bit, my dear Doctor. I find the images you create to be very pleasing.” 

Julian remained uncertain. “But they don't make sense.”

“They do indeed.”

“No, they don't.” Julian was irritated now. 

Garak considered the situation. Had Julian's parents reacted in a negative manner when their son had finally begun to attempt to talk, rejecting his muddled sentences, even mocking them? Language acquisition must have been so daunting; trying to hold the words in a row, struggling to get them right, all at sea in a manner of communication so unnatural to him, only to be met with scorn and frustration.  
He sought to proceed carefully. 

“You are referring to the content. Because the sentence, 'The cat is green', is grammatically correct and can be understood. However, why can we not say 'The cat is green'? Perhaps cats are green somewhere. Perhaps this one particular cat is green due to some as of yet unexplained reason. Perhaps this cat is appearing to someone in a dream. Indeed, the sentence, 'The cat is green', would not be out of place in a work of literature. Besides.” He smiled at his partner. “I happen to like the image so much that I shall find it difficult to forget the sentence and every so often, I will think about a green cat.”

Julian enjoyed repeating certain Cardassi words to himself - it could have been that the sound as he formed it on his tongue was pleasing or satisfying in some manner. Repetition in certain areas seemed to give Julian great comfort. Initially, when their relationship had become something more and they began to spend more time at close quarters with one another (before eventually sharing living quarters), Julian had not exactly hidden this comfort activity but his behaviour had told Garak he had been ashamed of it, or felt it was unbecoming or not fitting for a grown man, and that it was to be expected that a partner wold not view it as something desirable or acceptable. A hangover from his childhood, Garak deduced. He was not in anyway perturbed by Julian's predilection to enjoy one particular text over and over, nor did he see an issue with how he would rub Kukalaka's paws between his fingers, and most certainly he had no issue with hearing his partner repeating Cardassi words to himself, or seeing him trace his fingers over its letters and words again and again. Everyone processed the world, their life, and experiences in different ways and if Julian liked to process input by repeatedly engaging with it then that was his way of doing it, and often it had a calming, grounding effect on him. They had never directly addressed this but in an unspoken way had treated it, with Garak asking Julian to tell him about the works he had read over and over, to smile at him when he heard him intoning his Cardassi words to himself, or to acknowledge Kukalaka in some way. What a contrast it made to the experiences they had both had in forced rote learning. Julian having to perform the same string of numbers, devoid of context and therefore meaning on a nearly nightly basis to a roomful of boors and cretins. And young Elim, stuck memorising grammar drill after drill, going over the same dialogues which were not conversations and never could be, seeing as he was the only participant present. None of Julian's repeated activities were tainted by this imposed aspect, it came from his own natural impulses.

If Julian was happily at play with the Cardassian language, Garak too was attempting to engage in play with the newly acknowledged side of his self. He had followed Julian's advice and knew not to rely on literature solely and if he was to read it, to be more sceptical of it, and to not fear rejecting it if what was depicted did not appeal to him. He developed a certain ploy, very transparent and Julian had certainly seen through it immediately but played along with Garak in it. When Garak did come across something that piqued his interest, touched him in a way that excited him, instead of communicating this directly to Julian, he would read the passage aloud from the text he was currently studying. It was easier to read the words written by others than to have to voice these desires in his own way. It was a pure illusion but it was the illusion he required and that granted him the sense of distance necessary to him still. When Garak would read these passages aloud to his partner in the evening as they sat together, Julian would listen intently, then ask some questions, ostensibly about the writing, all the time a smile on his features, eyes moving over Garak, before ending the short discussion with a confirmation of some kind, saying that the work was good or interesting but which really meant that he had understood Garak's message, that he was very open to it, and that he seemed to think it could at least be tried or experimented with.  
They had not yet done anything in practice, though Garak was aware the opportunity was there as soon as he indicated to Julian that he was ready. But like Julian with his sentences and repeated Cardassi words, Garak needed a little bit longer to play with this idea before he could take the next step of making it a reality.

The war also continued to hang over their lives, determining their days, no matter how much they attempted to insist on wrangling back any autonomy over their time. There were more and more missions, and in their different ways, Garak and Julian found themselves become more deeply involved in the campaigns of war. Garak had only truly understood now how much of an affect the war with the Dominion was having on them when he had spent a kanar-infused evening telling Julian about the plan and strategy he had devised and executed (an all too fitting choice of word, in this particular case) in regards to the Romulan ambassador. He had expected arguments from Julian, fiery rebuttals and insistences on not violating Federation values, the ethics of war. This had not been the case. Having had to live through a war that had not yet ended and whose outcome remained highly uncertain at best, and having to take part in this conflict, as a doctor and as a member of Starfleet had changed Julian's attitudes. This was not to say his ideals had been renounced, no, that would not happen, but he had understood that ideals have to adapt, that bloody battle and unscrupulous opponents cause you to reason how best to fight and defeat them without compromising your self and beliefs too much. He was very far from the young man who had excitedly talked about frontier medicine. Indeed, and rather unexpectedly, the Doctor appeared to deal with this aspect of war better than the Captain. And perhaps this was because he understood it was not actually something ambivalent, but that values, convictions, and ethics could not exist in a vacuum, they only truly existed when tested in such a manner and put into practice in an unpredictable universe which did not care about them. Survival, Julian had now learned the value of survival, his own survival if necessary, of his loved ones preferably, but ultimately, the most important was the survival of the worlds that enabled them to live in the way that accorded with their values. Garak had found himself impressed by his partner, that he had fulfilled the promise he had once glimpsed in him. But he experienced another strange sense of mourning, recognising that though their relationship remained strong and in many ways had become stronger through the war time, it would never be quite what it had been before because they were both no longer the people they had been at the beginning of it. He loved Julian, and relied upon him, more than he knew perhaps. And yet, he knew that he would always make choices like eliminating the Romulan ambassador. Julian knew this too. And if such a decision had to be made at the cost of Julian's life in order to preserve a way of life, it would be done. And Garak understood now for certain, that the Doctor too would make such a decision at the cost of his life. 

If the machinations of war had been the instigation for Julian's development in this regard, Garak had feared that grief would produce a return to his previous stance, in a knee jerk reaction, rejecting the conflict, and indeed, the people who had murdered his dear friend.  
Garak had heard the news from Constable Odo, and hurriedly locking his shop behind him, had returned to their quarters. He found Julian, only half-out of his surgery scrubs, sitting on the ground, his back against the wall, eyes unfocused, clutching Kukalaka tightly in his arms. For one long moment, Garak was seized by a panic that Julian had once more fallen into a dissociative state, brought on by the shock of having Lieutenant Dax taken from him. However, on appraising his partner, he saw that he was with him still, rocking slightly where he sat, hunched up over himself. What could one do in such moments, even for a beloved partner? He grieved for Julian, and also mourned the loss of such a fine person as Jadzia. He could barely allow himself to consider Commander Worf and what he must be experiencing as he would have to consider what he himself would be reduced to in the face of such a loss, and he could not dwell on the devastation of his life if Julian was taken from him in such a crude, brutal, and senseless manner.  
Julian could not talk of his grief, and Garak allowed him this. Grief was not necessarily something to be accessed and released immediately. His own strangely powerful grief at Tain's death had really only begun to unfurl recently, taking a long time to seep through. Garak did not resent Julian's silence in this, it was not for him to demand he share it with him. It took the arrival of Ezri Dax for Julian's mourning to begin. Garak imagined that until he had to be confronted with the symbiont's new host, living, breathing, and so unlike Jadzia, that Julian had been able to keep the full impact of her death at a distance. This Trill was young and struggling under the unexpected responsibility of negotiating her new identity and her new state, dealing with the emotional fall out of returning to the previous host's surroundings, colleagues and friends, all whilst a war raged on at a new heightened level. One evening, soon after Ezri Dax had arrived on the station, Julian had returned to their quarters, and wordlessly approached Garak. He folded his long frame into his arms and cried noiselessly against him; Garak experienced a sympathetic prickling heat behind his own eyes but forced this down; he would not be so tasteless as to take a grief that was not his own.

-

However, if they were able to play in some areas, Garak had more recently been tasked by Captain Sisko with a completely serious undertaking. It had not been a request or a suggestion, even if Garak had protested against it he knew the Captain would have forced him into it. For though he struggled with legacy of the assassination, it had also shown him that he could live with it, and this type of acquired knowledge was always dangerous. It was not neutral and it did not exist in a vacuum, and for Sisko, this knowledge of himself would always be bound up with the former Cardassian operative who had partly manipulated him into this position. Though Garak could not believe the Captain was fully capable of playing the game, (not without completely sacrificing himself) he could play it to a degree. As Garak sat across from the Captain in his office, he did not read spite in his stance but certainly, a kind of satisfied antagonism in his demeanour, though his face remained impassive. Sisko was aware now that his own boundaries, previously believed to be fixed, could be moved and pushed if the situation called for it. Furthermore, he understood too well that Garak's boundaries could be pushed very far, and that even if trusted with carrying out something that went against so much in him, he would still do it, for Cardassia, for her people. To Sisko, being in this position was too perfect, really, and Garak could not begrudge him for taking some kind of grim pleasure in it at his expense. He had observed Garak carefully after delivering his command to begin work on cracking Cardassian intelligence messages and their codes. In one move, his order would gain a concrete advantage for the Federation in the war as well as inflicting some punishment on the Cardassian. This was where his lack of experience in the area revealed itself. Sisko should have known better than to expect a visible reaction from Garak to this, and he should not have allowed himself to display his need for such a reaction. Knowing that this task would be difficult for his opponent should have brought him enough satisfaction, which was the only small victory Garak himself could pull from the situation. The Captain was taking it all too personally and it wasn't meant to be, really.  
Part of Sisko would never quite reconcile himself to the fact that they had both been placed on the same side of the war, whereas Garak could accept this, although he found himself with unnatural allies, at odds with the people who worked together, and his convictions and reasons for joining in this conflict were completely at odds with Starfleet in many ways. 

However, in the end, Captain Sisko was indeed granted whatever satisfaction he gained from witnessing Garak's struggles with the work with which he had been tasked. 

“Elim.”

He and Julian were back in their quarters later that evening after Garak had been discharged from the infirmary. 

“Why – why didn't you tell me you were struggling with your claustrophobic attacks?” Julian appeared pained, not irritated or insulted, but very much hurt. 

“No slight was intended to you, my dear Doctor.” 

He was tired, so tired that he could feel it in his bones, an ache. Standing at the replicator, he ordered two glasses of kanar. One he tossed off in a single gulp, and returned the empty glass, carrying the second drink with him to the sofa. Julian's face had taken on that particular stubborn expression, indicating he was very displeased. Garak sighed. 

“That isn't how you're supposed to drink kanar.”

“Yes, Doctor, I am quite aware of this, thank you. But this hardly even counts as kanar, so in that case, I thought it better to consume it as quickly as possible.”

“Like medicine?” Julian's voice was sharp.

“Julian, my dear.” There was a pleading edge to his words which he wished wasn't so obvious. It was times like this when he wished he was still able to retreat into the softness of the implant's effects. “It has been a demanding day. I need to take the edges off.”

Everything was too sharp – the station's artificial light was too white, glaring, the temperature cut through his layers, and he just needed some relief from it all. The ceiling of their quarters was so low; had it been that low before? No, it hadn't, his tired mind confirmed. He was close to an attack and he needed to do something drastic to keep it at bay, he would not suffer the indignity of two attacks in the space of a single day, no matter how displeased Julian became. He knocked back the second glass of kanar and rose to get another but was pulled back by Julian's grip on his arm. This did not help with the shifting proportions of the room.

“Doctor, release me.” He said in a voice he had not had cause to use for a long time. 

“Elim, this isn't a good idea.”

“No, but I don't have a better one at this time or would you prefer that I attempt to throw myself out the air lock again?” 

That humiliation burned in his scales still. He had been reduced to the irrational frenzy of a dumb animal, and everyone knew it. Then the added humiliation of having to talk to Ezri Dax about this, her determination to get him to express things he had not yet revealed to his partner. 

“Elim, I think it'd be better if we could just talk.”

“Why does everyone wish to talk now? Can we all just cease talking for one moment, just a moment of respite from the incessant and insignificant idiot bluster?”

Garak wrenched his arm from him and moved away, getting the necessary third drink. Once he had drunk half of this, he turned back to his partner and saw him sitting on the sofa with his elbows on his knees, face in his hands. He regretted his outburst but did not regret that he had achieved his objective of getting another drink. Unbidden, the memory returned of the previous time Julian had involuntarily been reduced to silence. Garak ricocheted between a need to be left completely alone, detached from everything that held him here, and wanting Julian to somehow help break him out of the isolation of being trapped inside his own mind. The silence continued, and Garak watched as his partner grasped at his hair, rocking slightly.

“Julian. Oh, Julian. It's this code breaking, I – may I turn off my translator? I need some respite from having to hear that language.”

Julian looked up at him, still holding his head, his eyes uncertain, almost frightened, whether for or because of him, he could not tell. He nodded nevertheless and Garak turned the machine off. 

“That language.” Julian murmured, and Garak found it easier to bear Standard. He did not experience relief but hoped another drink would bring about the longed-for dulling of these edges. 

“That language. Elim, what has happened? How can you refer to Cardassi as 'that language'?” 

Garak sat down heavily in the chair across from the sofa, unable to allow himself to be too close to Julian. He hadn't lied when he had ranted to Ezri about what his codebreaking role meant, the deaths he was responsible for and how his Cardassian training was failing to stave off his despair at what he had to do, his fear that his repeated mantra that this was for the ultimate good of his people was not enough to convince himself. But he had not told her everything and never would. He had weighed up his options, backed into a corner as he was – if he did not convincingly give her enough, she would continue to probe. He knew he could just about survive the codebreaking but he could not survive that and having to report constantly to a counsellor. So, he had pushed himself to tell her enough that was true so as to be accepted as believable, as progress, so he would be left alone. He had been given orders to practice useless breathing exercises which could easily be dismissed. He had won himself some space but not really, because he could not treat Julian the same way, no matter how desperate he was. 

Garak spoke in Standard, hoping to find there the right way to express himself. 

“Each message I decode is a death sentence for Cardassians, and their deaths will not be seen as tragic, they will be viewed as necessary, even unimportant lives lost and deserved justice inflicted. Each of those messages is death. Even the most banal, innocuous words, I sit there, breaking their carefully constructed codes, codes I myself created in part, and was so smugly satisfied about – code breaking, what a crass, vulgar word, in Standard as well as Cardassi. I have been lying to myself for too long now about the nature of this war. I like to pretend it is a skilled game to play at, devising strategies, alliances, orchestrating other characters like puppets, believing myself to be some kind of master of it. The reality is that war itself is horribly vulgar, ugly, and cannot be contained as a simple series of moves made across a board. Oh, sentiment, Tain would scorn me now if he could hear me. You know my previous life, lives, my dear, and so I believed myself ready for such a conflict, but I have proven incapable of mastering it, mastering myself. The occupation of Bajor and the end of it was entirely different to this. And what is it that I struggle with here? Words. My resentment and rejection of having my abilities, skills, and indeed lives turned against me.”

He took a large mouthful of his drink. His head felt so heavy, a slow pounding indicating the beginning of a headache. He drained his glass, pausing before he rose to get another one. This time Julian at least did not prevent him. Garak remained standing at the replicator, his back turned to his partner.

“It's just that the words follow me. From the messages I've decoded. This has never happened to me before, with all my years in the Obsidian Order, all the interrogations I have carried out. None of those words followed me ever. Sounds, certainly, but words, never.”

Certain screams, whimpers, and even maniacal laughter, echoed in his mind sometimes, from memories of individuals long ago destroyed, whether directly at his hands or indirectly being broken by his techniques as an interrogator. But now, he was incapable of forgetting the Cardassi words which he decoded, and his mind repeated them over and over, turning them into metaphors for death, euphemisms for destruction and elimination. He sat down again, across from his partner, wishing he could form words of apology, words of love, even just an attempt at some witticism to dispel the heavy atmosphere, if only for Julian.

“How long is this war going to last, Julian?” He asked quietly, head bent, unable to hold its weight. Sickeningly, he found himself almost envious of Julian's dissociative state, oh, he would welcome such a relief now. He knew he could never allow his partner to know he had just had such a terrible, selfish thought. Who knows, Elim, he thought, perhaps some Cardassian will capture you and bring you to Dominion-occupied Prime, and will take great pleasure in breaking you with their own interrogations. He knew all too well what was inflicted on traitors and a traitor is what he would be seen as by too many of his own people. Oh, to have the implant back, just for one night. His own weakness disgusted him.

“Words!” He barked out, half shouting, half laughing. “I will finally be driven mad by words, what an indignity.” He looked at Julian and his face must have been far too open, and indeed, Garak was certain he had lost control over his expressions a while back this evening.

“Elim, I can't help you with the code breaking issue.”

“No.” He sighed. “No one can. I have to do it, Julian.”

“I know. I understand.”

“I am not sure you do.” 

“I understand to a small degree.”

Garak needed to stop being so uncharitable towards this human but right now, he had very, very little left, and he had never had much charity towards himself to begin with. He had very little left of everything – energy, patience, hope. 

“And I cannot do anything about the contents of the messages, nor how the words follow you. We can keep our translators off for longer periods, in the evenings, and you can speak Federation with me.”

Julian's mouth was set in a firm line but his brown eyes were filled with kindness, and it was this determined quality to the Doctor's caring nature that was so admirable in him, to Garak's mind. Not something he had ever been taught to admire, but he did so nonetheless. 

“There is another suggestion I have to make. I do not know how long this war will last Elim. But when it ends, and we are both still here, I hope we can go to Cardassia together. The way this war is headed – there will be so much suffering there, so many Cardassians left in need, in desperate need. They will need help in healing their bodies and building back up their planet.”

“Julian, ever the optimist. That is the best case scenario and you are fully aware of it.” 

They both knew the war could easily (would likely) end in defeat for the Federation and Julian would not be coming to Cardassia in that case, and Garak would, but only as a secret prisoner to be disappeared. 

“I am aware, Elim. But what is the point of focusing on that? We also know what will happen in that case.” He sighed before returning to what he wanted to say originally. “Cardassia will be desperately in need of doctors, medical staff. I will benefit from knowing medical terminology and terms relating to Cardassian biology and pathology, specifically. I know you may not perhaps understand the words I need to know but can you help me learn this vocabulary? Have these words appeared in any of your messages you have decoded?”

“No, Doctor, there has been no mention of any sort of medical terminology.”

“I thought as much. Quite specific to the area, not everyday words at all, are they? Would you help me learn such vocabulary?”

Garak's limbs felt weak now, understanding what Julian hoped to achieve. He would hear all these Cardassi words in Julian's voice, a sound which had only the best connotations for him, and indeed, a soothing effect on him. Hearing Cardassi words in that beloved voice would help drain some of the poison currently festering inside the language for him. And medical terms, from scientific tracts, never used by him or others and so would possess none of the connotations other ubiquitous words now had for him. A purer place. And he asked to learn with Garak, to share this undertaking. Was he ready? Would this be safe?

“Julian, you do not need to do this.”

“Yes, I do, and you know it, and you understand.” His partner's eyes were soft but insistent. “I will be alright, Elim. I want to do this. It is important to me, too. I've also told you before, professional vocabulary has never been an issue for me, it is more akin to formulae and learning new words for things I am an expert in and spend my professional life using will not be as difficult to acquire. I think it might even make more sense than the rest of the language, as I'll connect it to concrete parts of the body, to components, instruments, procedures. I know I can't speak much Cardassi but at least this way, I'll finally fulfil my father's unspoken wish that I was an idiot savant, I will only be capable of performing highly complicated surgery in Cardassi and will be incapable of asking someone to pass me the salt.”

Garak felt a near hysterical laugh climbing up his throat and he did hope it was a laughing fit. “You forget, my dear, you can tell Cardassians that cats are green.”

Julian smiled at him, broadly, lines creasing at his eyes.

“I would be honoured to learn with you, Julian.” 

“Well, I could learn one word now, but in this case it is outside of the medical area, and also a word to not be used tonight, but soon, I think. I hope – if you want.”

Garak tilted his head, waiting for Julian to continue.

“Elim, what is the Cardassi word, in the imperative form, for 'kneel'?”

“'Zun'zohesh'.” He hissed faintly. He did not know how to respond to what Julian was offering. As soon as he had said it, he knew he wanted it, quite badly, no matter how apprehensive he was about what might happen or what difficulties he could have to push against in himself. What Julian was letting himself in for. He imagined the relief of being ordered to his knees before Julian, waiting for his next command, being tied up, at Julian's loving mercy as he gave him pain and words of praise. He shuddered at how simply the scenario had presented itself to him, and how much he wished to submit to Julian's direction in such a situation. He knew tonight was certainly not the time to embark on this but having the thought with him, something so utterly private and personal that nothing else could intrude upon it, it gave him just enough strength to make it through for a little longer.


	11. Chapter 11

As a young Cardassian, Garak had shown a great aptitude for rhetoric, coming far ahead of his peers. His voracious reading habits, pronounced even for a Cardassian, had brought him command over a vast vocabulary and a knowledge of a wide array of styles. His imitative abilities were well-showcased by how he could consciously produce essays and speeches adopting a specific style, characteristic of a historical period or of a particular important figure. He had always taken pride and no small amount of pleasure in this ability, which was not dulled or made redundant by now residing on a station in exile, although few around him could truly appreciate these nuances and his excellence in these areas.  
And yet, now, in spite of all his skills, experiences, and knowledge, he had to live through the strange experience of recognising his unfamiliarity with an entire area of Cardassi. Medical terminology. He had expected to spend some time with Julian, assisting him in correct pronunciation, but instead, he found himself confronted with unexpected difficulties. The greater difficulty he had factored for was gaining access to Cardassian medical texts and information, information guarded carefully on his home planet. This accomplished, employing certain means and ways, another decision then had to be taken – whether to apply any form of systematic learning. However, though Julian had become familiar with looking at Cardassi symbols, he did not understand the full alphabet. They chose to study this, recognising that as a medical officer, he would have to read padds for information on patients and work with other forms of technology which utilised a visual written element. Garak had continuing concerns for Julian's reaction to learning the language in this manner and yet, unlocking the meaning of the alphabet came quite easily to him. His mind was suited to processing these letters as puzzles or codes, working out what sound they represented. He further had a tactile relationship with the letters, tracing over them with his fingertips, the complex patterns appealing to something in him.  
Then they had turned to medical vocabulary, which was where Garak found himself unexpectedly lost. 

“My dear, I fear my hubris has been exposed.” 

“What do you mean?”

They sat together at the small table in their quarters, a pot of tea and two cups precariously balanced on the table, scarcely finding space amongst the scattered padds and texts. 

“What I mean to say is that I realise fluency in a language has a limited meaning.” He gestured at the padds before them. “Cardassi is my native tongue, and I take no small pride in my talent for it. I can read these words, but I do not understand them. These medical terms are concepts I have never encountered before. This is a new language for me, Doctor.”

Julian looked at his partner, surprise evident in his face, and Garak wondered whether it was only attributable to realising Garak possessed little knowledge in something previously seen as his particular talent, or was it also surprise at hearing him express such shortcomings out loud, which he certainly would never have done in front of his fellow Cardassians? 

“We may have to revise our approach.” Garak mused. 

And perhaps this was for the better – had Garak not been viewing this as a simple undertaking, something he could do automatically almost? Now instead, he would be forced to a more considered pace, which would be of benefit to Julian also. They moved between using the assistance of the universal translator and consciously doing without it – sometimes it was necessary for the technology to parse the Cardassi words for complex medical procedures, reactions within the Cardassian body, the names for medicines, and the internal organs and systems, giving them back in Standard. But Julian and Garak did not always wish to rely on such one-to-one translation. Even anatomy was not as simple as Garak had expected it to be, as he was confronted with parts of the body which had no equivalent in humans and therefore had no translation in Standard. Julian sought to find parallels to other species in order to orient himself with these new concepts.

“However, Garak.” He said one evening as they sat together, working on devising a definition for a particularly obscure part of the Cardassian nervous system. “This means there are words I will only ever know in Cardassi. I won't have to do that jump, where I want the word in Cardassi, but I think of Standard first, before finding the Cardassi equivalent. No matter how brief of a moment in time that jump takes, it is still a delay. But instead these words were never known to me in any other way, only in your language.”

“In this case, I too am learning new concepts.” 

Garak would be able to break down the words to their constituent parts in order to seek their meaning in the word's origins or history, putting them together again, drawing out the implications of this. 

“I have never heard these words before. They are untouched by previous associations and connotations.”

Julian grazed his knuckles over the back of his hand, a soft smile creasing his eyes. Though the codebreaking work continued, his claustrophobic attacks had begun to abate, and highly competent in her work though she was, Garak could not attribute this development entirely to Ezri Dax's work. These study sessions with Julian counted for a great deal of his relief. 

“I believe we are currently preoccupied with one of the very few areas of the Cardassi language which is overtly specific and direct in its meanings.” 

“It remains complicated though.” Julian responded. “But I am afraid in matters of medicine, it is quite necessary to be specific rather than indirect.”

Garak made an amused sound at this.

“I also find it reassuring to deal with such language, and to witness you learning it.” Garak hoped he was not making a misstep by indicating to Julian that his study of Cardassi elicited an emotional response in him. However, his partner displayed no discomfort at this, and he waited for Garak to continue. 

“I would usually value the flexibility of Cardassi and the many meanings attached even to a simple word, depending on its intent, on its pronunciation, and many other factors. Yet I find myself increasingly resenting the corruption of our language – not just in the messages I decode, but in the constant stream of propaganda pumped into the Cardassian public consciousness by the Dominion. At least when I was a younger man, we ensured that such rhetoric had style, and it served a purpose, it served Cardassians.”

Julian said nothing, but Garak could read his scepticism in his face – not without reason, Garak said to himself. 

“It is somehow quite comforting to encounter a whole area of vocabulary that cannot be deployed in such a manner, and furthermore, to bear witness to someone acquiring these words who would never abuse them.”

Julian's face brightened once again. “I thank you for this esteem, Elim.”

Garak knew he couldn't fully express all he wanted to say to Julian just now – that he felt as if Julian's learning Cardassian medical terminology somehow balanced out or compensated for what his own codebreaking was inflicting on his people. His knowledge of Cardassi meant Cardassians were attacked, were made more vulnerable. Julian's knowledge of Cardassi meant they would be cared for, their wounds would be treated and their pain alleviated, perhaps even healed.

These sessions would go on for some time, both of them so involved in their study that time passed easily, the evening deepening. Garak slept better after these sessions, he found. On one occasion, when they had just finished and were clearing up the table, Julian put an unexpected question to him, changing the topic entirely.

“Elim, there is the issue of equipment for any potential games we partake in.”

Garak understood instantly what Julian was referring to.

“Indeed.” He replied and felt foolish, awkward. He still did not know quite how to respond to such discussions, and even in this, Julian needed to direct their talk, guide him along. However, he found that slowly such talks, and Julian's guiding him, gave him a secure feeling, a sense of reassurance. He wanted to share this with Julian but could not just yet. 

“It is important for me to know what you're comfortable with me using on you.” Julian continued. “For example, to restrain your hands, some like to use cuffs, some use ropes.”

“Cuffs – lack an aesthetic appeal for me.” Garak found it easier to describe to Julian what he did not want and his partner seemed to take as much pleasure in hearing about what he absolutely did not want as much as he enjoyed hearing about what he did. Sometimes it was overwhelming being the focus of such attention. 

“They seem cold and uncomfortable, not in a pleasant way.” 

The idea of material tightening around his wrists, Julian binding his hands together, the rub of it against his scales was quite arousing to him, the tactile aspect, the visual aspect. There was no rational reason why this should be so but he found he was learning to accept this absence of pure logic to his desires.

“Good, very good.”

Garak was warmed pleasantly by these words, and he knew that the word 'good' would never have quite the same meaning again after this.

“What about pain? This might only be something we learn through doing but I just wanted to check if you had any ideas or preferences.”

On this point, no instant objections came to mind. Whatever about anything else in this area, Garak really only had the vaguest idea as to what was possible, what he might like. The only concrete thing he did not wish for was for the pain to be inflicted in a humiliating or degrading manner. Perhaps it was a contradiction but he wanted the administration of pain by Julian to be a loving act; to him, the fact that Julian would do this for him was in itself an act of love, that he considered his desires so thoughtfully and wanted to know so thoroughly what his needs were. So, to then have this culminate in a dismissive slap across the face would shatter this for him or to be subjected to hateful words or slurs whilst he did so would also destroy this for him.

Julian rose and helped Garak to a standing position, allowing his hand to linger and to slide down to his backside. 

“If I was to hit you here, with my hand, would that be of interest? I could do it with a cupped hand first, then open.” His thumb stroked over the curve of his arse. Garak inclined his head in assent, and Julian squeezed him gently. 

“However, Doctor, the hour is growing quite late now, and -”.

His partner startled and looked at him, laughing. 

“Oh, Elim, love, I didn't mean that we would begin such a scene tonight. I don't think that would be a good idea. I just needed to know some more information, to prepare better. No, when we do do this, I want to plan a bit in advance, at least for the first time.”

Garak felt ridiculous, having misunderstood Julian's intentions, and further felt somewhat exposed for having shown that he was so eager for this. He shifted under Julian's touch, making to break away and his partner read the shift in his attitude and he acted quickly to re-establish the more positive, open mood they had been enjoying. 

“A full scene would be too much, I think, tonight, but perhaps if you like, we could try one small thing? To see if you like it?”

Heat rushed to Garak's face and he could imagine the blue tint flushing his cheeks at this moment.

“What did you have in mind, Julian?” Garak asked, his voice emerging far more quietly than he would admit to.

“First of all – what's your safe word, Elim?”

“Invoices.” He confirmed, feeling terribly self-conscious but Julian was pleased. Then he gave his order.

“Kneel, Elim.”

Garak's breath caught in his throat. Julian stood before him, a subtle change having come over him. He repeated his order. 

“Elim, kneel.” 

His voice was clear and insistent, and Garak was shocked to find how he melted at these tones, at this one word. He sank to his knees in front of Julian, who remained standing. He placed his hands on his thighs, and kept his head lowered, only Julian's feet visible to him from this position. He did not know what his partner would do next and he felt his breathing becoming faster, more shallow. He sensed Julian leaning down and then felt his fingers under his chin, tilting his face up to his.

“Look at me, Elim.”

He met Julian's eyes, which had darkened intensely.

“Good, Elim, very good.”

A small shudder went through him at these words, which had become even more powerful when combined with the position he was currently in.

“Elim, tell me how you feel right now.” 

He sought to somehow coherently express what was in his mind, knowing also that this was an order he needed to comply with. 

“Excitement. But also – I don't know what you're going to do next. I – I also feel the need to do something for you. I do not know what though.”

Julian moved his hand to his cheek and caressed him.

“Well done, Elim.”

He flushed again at these words, wanting to hear more. 

“I will inform you of anything I am about to do. I will not take advantage of the position you are in. And I am certain we can find things for you to do for me.”

Garak knew this was only a mere taste of what this could potentially be, and he found himself overwhelmed and swept by desire and vulnerability, and understood how right Julian had been to only expose him to one small step at a time. 

Julian removed his hand.

“Elim, do not move.” 

He obeyed and watched as his partner sat himself in a chair at the table they had just been studying at, still within arm's reach of Garak. Some moments passed and Garak searched himself for what he was currently experiencing. He found that his mind was becoming quieter, the constant tracks of thoughts were fading, dropping away, and physically tension was beginning to make itself felt in his thighs and he focused on this, welcoming it.

“Elim, you cannot move until I say so. You are on display for me, do you understand?”

He affirmed this, scarcely wanting to move his lips even in order to respond. This was more familiar to him, being on display for his partner, although the physical position was different. Would he also be on display for Julian when he was tied up, bound to their bed? Yes, he understood now that that was part of it, he would not just be subject to Julian's power, his hands, but also to his eyes, unable to hide.  
He held himself upright, his head tilted back slightly as he looked up at Julian. His muscles were taut and he sought to control them, a burning ache made itself felt in his thighs and he focused on this; he examined how it felt, the sensation of this pain. He needed to develop a different sense for pain now. Previously, pain was something he had to transcend, to disconnect himself from so it did not compromise him. The implant had done an exemplary job of this. However, it was not the relationship to pain which he sought in this context – he did not wish to avoid the pain, to not experience it, he wanted to revel in it, to experience each facet of it, learn how it could be heightened and maintained, how his senses would react to various kinds of pain. He found that the implant had not conditioned him to enjoy the pain in the way one might expect from the chain of association emerging from a shot of a drug in response to be subject to violent methods of interrogation. The drug was a cover, and underneath in these moments, he was frightened, his life was in danger, his knowledge of Cardassia and her elite, her politics, her secret intelligence of the higher importance than him. Now, he would be able to attune himself to the sensation of physical pain, all the time aware that he was ultimately safe, that he would be able to give himself over completely to pain and what it aroused in him, he would not be endangering others by doing so, he would not be endangering himself. This was a great relief as he had been apprehensive that memories, unbidden, of operations gone wrong and the ensuing torture would be awakened by any potential scenarios he and Julian would indulge in. But nothing floated up to disturb his mind,

Their quarters were quiet, and Garak found himself content. This was the start of what they could do together, he could feel how this position placed him in the right mindset for accessing this side of himself, how it prepared him for the next step in their activities.

Julian bent forward and reached out to stroke his cheek.

“You're doing so well, Elim, you kneel for me beautifully.”

He wanted to look away from his partner's face, so earnest as he said these words to him but Julian saw this, and instead of caressing him, took his chin more firmly in his grip, making him look at him again. He felt helpless and although he knew he could stop this at any moment should he wish to, he did not, he wanted this sensation of rawness, kneeling at Julian's feet.

“You are so good, Elim, and you obey me so well. But now it's time to stop for the evening. Stand up, slowly, when you're ready.”

Garak consciously relaxed his frame, allowing his figure to fall out of the position he had been holding. He found he could not, or did not want, to get to his feet immediately. His mind had slowed down and it took some moments for him to catch up with everything again, and was almost resistant to doing so. When he mind was less fuzzy, he took Julian's proffered hands, and supported himself on them as he rose from the floor. His muscles twinged and Julian ensured he kept one hand at Garak's lower back, the other supporting his hand still. He guided them to the bedroom, and once had had seated Garak on the edge of the bed, he wordlessly began to assist him in taking his clothes off for him, and Garak accepted this, finding this act of care pleasant. Eventually, when they both lay in bed together, under the covers, Julian asked him:

“How are you feeling, love?”

Garak struggled to respond and he was appalled at the lack of elegance to his words.

“It was very good, Doctor. I don't know how to say precisely why yet but all I can tell you is that it was good.”

“It has shown you that you would like do more of this, I could feel that much.”

Garak only nodded this time, and soon he was asleep. His dreams were intense, not pleasant but not unpleasant either. He dreamt vividly, of the times Tain had locked him in the cupboard, his frightened child's helplessness overpowering. He dreamt of when the roles had been reversed and he had been the one subject to interrogation, the remembered pain and strange high of the implant covering this. They were not nightmares, they were rather something he experienced at a distance in his dream, although he understood that he was being presented with himself, with his past, and that this had happened to him. But it seemed more he was being shown how distant those experiences were from him; they belonged to him, unavoidably, but in this dream, he could bear witness to them without the risk of being hurt, of being captured, of suffering artificial highs, tampering with his perceptions, or suffering from debilitating claustrophobic attacks. He awoke, better slept than he had been for quite some time.

Another consequence of having only a taste of the kind of play possible for him under Julian's care, was that it sharpened his appetite greatly for more, and it seemed to dampen any expected shame or embarrassment in its aftermath. He found he was distracted at work in his shop, even when he was supposed to be focused on the deadly serious work of codebreaking. He ended up in the position of having to ask Julian for more, and this act of having to verbally express these desires, and make such requests of his partner only added to his arousal, and further reinforced their respective roles in these situations.  
One evening in their quarters, Julian produced a length of rope.

“Elim, would you like to see what it feels like to have your hands bound together?”

His mouth was dry, more apprehension uncoiling in his stomach than he wished to admit to his partner, mixed with an almost giddy desire to give himself up to these actions. Of course, he had had his hands restrained before, against his will, and he needed to know how this would feel now, in this different context. 

Julian remained seated, holding the rope coiled loosely in his hands.

“Kneel for me, Elim.”

“Yes, Doctor.” He responded, the title slipping from his mouth easily. Julian appeared intrigued by this. 

“Is that what you want to call me during these times?” 

He nodded. It seemed to fit somehow, just Doctor, no dear added in. Yet it did not have overt tones of control akin to other possible or more popular terms used in such scenarios. Garak could not identify his partner with the word 'Sir' or 'Master' and he did not want to see himself as being the opposite to what they denoted. 

He got to his knees, looking up at Julian, the position already familiar and welcome to him, his mind sliding to that quieter, emptier space brought on by it. 

“Hold you hands together, in front of you.”

Garak complied, a shiver of dread and anticipation running through him. He watched Julian's capable hands as they wound the rope around his wrist, checking the tightness against his scales. 

“Look, Elim.” He showed him the knot, and the demonstrated how it could be undone in one swift movement, retied it and undid it once more.

“If you want to stop, you use your safe word and you'll be out of the rope in one tug by me.” 

Julian tied the rope once more.

“Now, stay where you are.” 

Garak allowed his bound hands to rest against his thighs and he settled back into his position, focusing on acquainting himself with the sensation of rope binding his hands. He did not experience any sense of claustrophobia or panic, which he knew he would if he had been blindfolded or had something restraining his neck or mouth. This instead was something soothing, yet did not lack a certain intensity.  
Julian reached out to caress his cheek.

“You're doing so well, Elim. Oh, you look so good like this.”

Garak received his petting, warmed by it, by Julian's genuine care and enthusiasm for this new aspect of their lives.

“Tell me what you're thinking of, what you're feeling. I want to be certain you're doing alright. You've become awfully quiet.”

Garak sought to rouse himself, wanting to make Julian understand that this was a good thing, that he didn't need words in this moment, in this space. Another part of him was reassured by this direct expression of concern, his partner's need to be certain he was not experiencing anything unpleasant or distressing.  
His thigh muscles burned, and the rope was tight against him. He found control over his tongue once more. 

“I feel light. I'm imagining how it will feel to be tied up by you in other ways.”

Julian's face cleared at his response, any residual concern addressed, his eyes darkening, his arousal becoming evident, in turn feeding his own heightened state of sensuousness.

This feeling followed him into his dreams, as if a lifetime's worth of such feelings had been unlocked only now and so they were let loose on him, awake and asleep. He found himself more aware of his own body, stroking over his scales and limbs in a manner akin to how his partner would touch him. Indeed, one morning Julian had come upon him unexpectedly when he had given into the desire to pleasure himself. Julian was clearly shocked at what he was witnessing, then delighted, and then his face changed again to something else, and Garak stroked himself, keeping his eyes locked on Julian's. His partner approached the bed.

“Stop, Elim.” 

He halted immediately, a shiver of recognition at his tone.

“Do you often touch yourself like this without telling me?” 

“No, Doctor.”

He took one of his wrists tightly in his grip, applying just enough pressure to remind him of the younger man's superior enhanced strength.

“Next time you want to pleasure yourself, you have to ask me. Is that understood?”

“Oh, yes.” 

Julian tightened his grip. 

“Oh, yes, Doctor.”

Garak felt like he wasn't himself anymore, freed of his history, his duties, the daily hooks of his life and his past. How far could Julian take him away, how far would he go with him?

“I need to make sure you don't forget this though.” Julian's voice continued, low and soft, and Garak melted, desperate to be touched or touch himself. What did he look like to Julian in this moment? He wished he could be far enough outside of himself to experience that.

“Elim, you are going to be ready to learn this tonight, so you know to not forget you need my permission for such things.”

“Yes, Doctor, yes, please.” 

Julian had smiled then, and released him.


	12. Chapter 12

Garak did not know how he got through the rest of the day – he could not remember what he did, but he mechanically discharged the work necessary, only managing to keep his mind together enough to focus on the latest Cardassian intelligence. Even amid the haze of desires and expectations in him, he could not disrespect his people to that degree, to not dedicate himself fully to this duty, though he would get little thanks for it.

Garak returned to their quarters before Julian, as was often the case now with the war at such a tense point. Was it madness to be indulging in this now, he pondered, and decided, yes, perhaps it was, but he was going to at least lose himself once to such a moment of madness.  
He was at a loss as to what to do until Julian arrived; he was already falling into the mindset of needing to obey the Doctor and was concerned to not do anything that would be deemed against the rules or as inappropriate. He took to the shower, cleaning himself thoroughly, trying not to linger too long on his scales. He spent more time than he would care to admit in dressing for this occasion. 

The doors chimed, indicating that Julian had returned. He approached his partner and gave him a brief kiss on the mouth, telling him then a bit about his day whilst he disposed of his kit bag and changed out of his uniform. Garak was glad to have this interlude of calm before the evening's activities – it was a reminder that this Julian, his partner, and the other side of their lives was that, another side.  
Julian sat down beside him at the table.

“How are you feeling, Elim? Are you still interested in doing this tonight? It's alright if you're not or your mood has changed, we can do it another time.”

Garak shook his head. “I am still very interested.”

“Lovely.” Julian smiled. “I thought tonight I would introduce you to some pain play. I won't tie you up, just not to have too many firsts in one go. How does that sound?”

Garak could only nod; it sounded wonderful.

“This could potentially leave marks or bruising, or even break your skin or scales. Is that alright for you?”

“Yes, Julian.”

“Also, you know I am quite familiar with Cardassian anatomy by now, so I'm aware of which areas to avoid. But if something is unpleasant or too much, what's your safe word, Elim?”

“Invoices.”

“Very good.” Julian bent forward and kissed him, his mouth open against his partner's, who soon yielded and he felt Julian's tongue snake in between his lips. His scales thrummed, reminding him that he had been denied release earlier.  
They moved into the bedroom and Garak stood, waiting and uncertain. Julian turned to him, appraising him.

“Did you get dressed up for this evening, for me?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“You look just wonderful, Elim. But now I'm going to undress you.”

Garak remained as still as he could whilst Julian carefully removed his clothing, piece by piece, moving only to make it easier for the Doctor, who then placed these items on a nearby chair. 

“Now Elim, kneel for me.”

He had not kneeled in a state of undress for his Doctor before. Julian stood over him, gazing down at him, Garak looking up, the carpet of the floor different against his bare limbs. 

“You do this beautifully, you kneel so well for me, the way you hold yourself, display yourself.”

Julian undressed quickly, being far more careless about his own clothes than he had been about Garak's. Garak took in his partner's naked body, his beautiful angles, his long limbs, the dark triangle of wiry hair at his crotch, his cock emerging from it, the curve of his arse.

“Elim, stand up now and then you're to lie on the bed, face-down.”

He complied, his thigh muscles burning. Once he was in the requested position, Julian settled himself beside him.

“I'm going to massage you a bit first; it brings the blood to the surface, which helps your body deal better with the pain and impact.”

He felt Julian's hands stroking him gently at first, rubbing small circles over his scales before he increased the pressure, and then began to knead his muscles. Garak was filled with a wonderful lassitude, going limp under his partner's touch, welcoming the pressure.

“That's it, Elim, oh, perfect.” Julian whispered, delighting in Garak's reactions. “Now, I'm going to begin by using my hand, and not too hard. I'll increase the intensity as we go on, as I see how much pain you can take. I'll break to massage you in between, and if you're very good, Elim, I'll make you cum. Then you'll remember not to touch yourself unless you have my permission.”

“Yes, Doctor.” He was helpless with anticipation, his lower stomach fluttering, his fingers grasping in the bed beneath him. He felt so far away and yet was also completely present. He was filled with wonder at what his partner was doing, was doing for him.

Julian removed his hands and Garak's breath quickened as he waited.

“I'm going to use my hand on you, Elim, and you have to count each hit, backwards form thirty, and you will thank me after each one.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

The first hit was more of a smack rather than anything painful. Garak scrambled to process what he was experiencing at this – it wasn't negative, it wasn't a disappointment. He very much wanted to feel it again, harder. Julian had to remind him to count and thank him. 

“I apologise, Doctor. Thirty; thank you.”

And he meant it, sincerely, he wanted to thank his partner for all of this and as Julian struck his backside again with his hand, harder this time, he counted and thanked him again, hoping the Doctor understood he was not only thanking him as part of the game. The rhythm of Julian's hand striking him lulled him, and his skin began to burn, causing Garak to become wet as he came closer to everting.  
That round completed, Julian returned to massaging him again, Garak only able to lie in the aftershocks of these strokes, his backside beginning to feel warm and tender.

“Oh, you behaved so well, Elim, you learned quickly to count for and thank me. However, I will not tolerate you forgetting to do so again.” He could hear through the thickening of his voice alone how aroused Julian was and he wondered what occupying this role gave to him – he hoped to ask him about this on another occasion.

“If only you could see how you look as you lie stretched out for me, obeying me, you're so good, you're so good for me.” 

Garak became wetter at these words, already craving another round. He had felt the carefulness behind each of Julian's blows – this was not to say they had not been strong, that they had not hurt, they had, wonderfully so. But rather, Garak was reassured to feel that his partner was in control of himself, of the situation, he was focusing on how the pain would impact him, how best to deliver it. It was an entirely different world from the other pain and torture he had been subject to. Indeed, no bad memories had been touched on, he was relieved to find, he had only thought of it now when contrasting the two experiences. 

“How are you feeling? What are you thinking about now?” Julian asked him as he continued to knead his muscles. It took Garak a moment to be able to speak.

“I'm so grateful, Doctor, truly. I hope you know that. The pain is exquisite. I already wish for more of it. It is a revelation to witness you in this role.”

“And for you to be in this role?” 

“Also a revelation.” He said quietly.

Julian's fell away from him again and his breath hitched, quickening at the anticipation of what was to come next.

“What are you to do, Elim?”

“To count each hit, and thank you for it, Doctor.” 

This time Julian struck him so hard that Garak was taken surprise, the sound of Julian's hand connecting with his backside cracking through the air. It hurt, it stung and it was perfect. His voice was shakier as he counted and thanked the Doctor, and for once, he did not mind, he did not feel threatened that his unsteady words betrayed the state he was in. He wanted the Doctor to know, wanted him to witness how powerless he was. His skin and scales felt raw, hot, the repeated blows making him even more sensitive to their impact. Julian stopped and once more turned to massaging him and stroking his body, this time including his shoulders, his ridges, his limbs.

“You took that so well, Elim. I imagine you could take more, no? Something harder, from me?” Julian's fingers slid over his arse, and helping his partner to turn over, he examined him. “You were touching yourself earlier, Elim, without my permission. You won't do that again, will you?”

“No, Doctor.” He gasped, weak as Julian began to trace his lips. 

“Oh, you're so wet, you're behaving beautifully for me.” Julian raised his fingers to Garak's mouth. “Taste yourself.” 

This time Garak did not hesitate, he was desperate for connection, to touch Julian, and he licked at his outstretched fingers, watching his reaction, becoming more excited at this. Julian returned to stroking his lips, dipping a finger into him, not taking long for him to evert. He shuddered, imagining what it would feel like if the Doctor were to take him so far and then not allow him release, finding himself even more aroused at the prospect.  
Julian broke off his ministrations and reached for an implement. 

“Your tolerance will have gone up by now, so instead I'll use this on you.” He showed his partner the paddle in his hand. “On your front, Elim.”

Garak complied, waiting expectantly for the first blow on his backside but instead it came upon the back of his thighs. He cried out and Julian paused, his hand on the back of his head, waiting for a sign to indicate how he was doing. He rallied and sighed out a thank you, and counted the stroke. The Doctor released his grip and resumed his rhythmic strikes, until one particular blow indicated a new level of intensity and a faster pace. Oh, this time it hurt, it hurt at the edges of what he could take and managed to stay just on the right side of it, blow after blow raining down on his thighs, over again after a short minute. Each blow drove him further away from himself, he could only process the pain, the raw stinging of his skin, the heat blooming through him. It was still pain, yet it had become something else, all he could imagine was the Doctor going harder and harder in hitting him, he wanted to find out where the limit was and what would happen there. He wished he could see his own scales, the blue all over his backside and legs. His mind was beginning to empty out, and he was reduced down to only the sensitive nerves all over his body, singing at each touch of Julian's hands which once more stroked and massaged him.  
Julian turned him over on to his back and gazed at him.

“My God, Elim, you're so fucking wonderful, you look incredible right now.” 

Garak lay beneath him, boneless, feeling utterly helpless, wanting to be in this position. 

“What are you thinking of? Tell me.” 

His tongue was heavy in his mouth but eventually he managed to enunciate: “What it would be like to be bound and tied while you give me this.”

Julian's eyes flashed. “Oh, yes, Elim, I can give you that. But first, I'm going to cum on you, then I'll allow you to cum. Are you going to cum for me? You have my permission this time.”

Garak watched as Julian straddled him, his eyes dark with arousal and yet sharply focused on his partner beneath him, and it did not take long for him to mark Garak's chest and stomach with his cum; he felt it trickling over his scales, even sliding over his neck, and he found himself thanking the Doctor for this, for once not feeling discomfited by this sensation, instead he experienced the opposite, he welcomed being covered by his partner in this way, and in this moment he would have taken anything the Doctor chose to bestow on him and mark him with and he would thank him for it. 

Once Julian recovered, he took his partner in hand and began stroking his length, quickly establishing a pleasurable pace. Garak made some incoherent noises, the sensation of being stroked heightened by his still stinging thighs, by the relaxed, limp feeling in his body, the cum on his front the sense that the Doctor had him entirely in his power. He spurted across the Doctor's hand, his cum coating his own stomach, joining the Doctor's, and his orgasm was an extension of what he had been feeling, but also a balance, an opposite, the release coming from the accumulated blows. The Doctor was murmuring things to him, he could no longer clearly tell what it was but by the tone of his voice he knew they were good, they were warm, full of praise. He let everything wash over him, drifting further and further away, aware only of being turned over again, of a lash of pain against the back of his thighs, a new implement, a whip, he imagined. His breathing was deep and steady, he wondered if he was dreaming. All he could do was wait for the next blow from Julian's hand, nothing else penetrated. It hurt so much and in some way it was more powerful than the orgasm he had just had. He heard Julian's voice, muffled to his ears, at such a distance. His body was entirely in his partner's power now, he could do nothing about it, and somehow he did not feel terrified at this prospect.  
Julian's voice continued and Garak could not distinguish the words or even vowels and felt no need to either. The blows stopped. He heard Julian's voice, how he repeated the same sounds, but he remained incapable of comprehending or responding. The blows were not resumed and though he could not tell how much time was passing, the lengthening gap told him that this was over. He did not want to come down. Where he was currently was more wonderful than anything the implant had ever been capable of giving him. Prosaic notes of existence began to insert themselves back into his perception. He was thirsty, his mouth cotton dry. His body was cooling, beyond a comfortable temperature. Julian's voice approached his ear again and he allowed himself to be manoeuvred until he was sitting up and the Doctor pressed a glass of water to his lips which he sucked on greedily, the cool water a further sensation bringing him down. He was cold now and he shivered. The Doctor lay him down again and covered him with a blanket, murmuring indecipherable soft things to him again. He clung to the tone of the Doctor's voice – he did not want to be alone right now. Without any warning, Garak began to weep. He did not know where this reaction came from and he was powerless to stop it. Julian held him, stroking his face, his words becoming clearer bit by bit to Garak.

“Elim, this is a normal reaction, this happens, I have you, love, it's alright.”

He could not say what he was weeping for – was it purely his body's physical or chemical reaction to the intense experience he had just been given? Was it a delayed response to something else? There had certainly been occasions in his life past when he had wished he could express his emotions in such a manner but this had never been possible, never something to allow himself. So, having Julian's assurance that this was a normal reaction, he gave himself over to the storm of emotion in him, weeping unrestrained against his partner's chest. He ached, deep in his thighs and backside, and now in his eyes and his throat too. This attack passed and he remained in his partner's arms, an almost cloistered silence hanging in their bedroom. 

“Julian.” His throat clicked dryly. “Thank you.” He had used these words repeatedly this evening but now it was somewhat different. Julian pressed his lips against Garak's forehead, not releasing his hold on him.

“Elim, thank you. That was something else to be part of, and you let me be part of it.”

Garak lifted his hand to Julian's cheek and held it there as he pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. His limbs were pleasantly heavy and he would have remained in bed with his partner, content, but for the rather pressing issue of needing to clean up. During their interaction this evening he had been so out of himself that he had not even felt that he was covered in his own fluids, indeed he had even revelled in it, welcoming the physical sensation, the almost taboo marking of him, feeling himself to be debauched, and it was part of his submissive role, to present himself in such a manner to the Doctor. But now he very much wanted to be clean before retiring for the night. He raised himself up, telling Julian what he wished to do; he accompanied him to the bathroom and carefully turned on the water, a cool temperature, on the lightest setting, merely a trickle, so as not to aggravate his skin. Julian assisted him in his ablutions, and Garak, unbidden, was reminded of when his partner had fallen into his dissociative state and required support in the most basic, personal needs. There was a balance now, he believed. Not that Julian would ever have considered that it was necessary for there to be such a balance in their relationship, he would have just given to Garak and continued giving without requiring something in return. Noble, but not entirely wise, Garak had assessed and then revised his reaction as being informed by an upbringing which conditioned one into abusing the needs of others, manipulating them. It was this quality in Julian which had enabled him to gift him this experience, holding him safely in his power over him in such a moment.

They returned to bed, Garak refreshed, his body tingling anew, and he was more tired than ever now. 

“Elim.”

He made a sound in return, to indicate he was listening, able to respond.

“How did it feel? Can you describe it for me?” 

He sought to keep his eyes open and only half-succeeded. “It was astonishing. Many things made so much sense during it.”

It had almost been as if the panicked winged creatures that often resided in his head had settled, had stopped their flapping, tucked their wings in quietly and remained perched without moving.

“Can you explain it more concretely than that?” 

He understood that Julian, though certain of himself during their scene and in his role, now was in need of reassurance that Garak was alright, that nothing untoward had come about as a result. Yet, he still could not put into words what had taken place, and really, that was the point, that was the beauty and liberation of what had taken place. He could only know it by giving himself over to it, and what had not been experienced through words could not be expressed through them. It was not an admission of his own facility with words having failed; it was an understanding, won quite late in life, that there were experiences which existed in a realm outside of language. Perhaps this was why Julian was more easy in his body and sexuality, he who had long been happier non-verbal than with the verbal, whereas Garak's only armour for his whole life had been language, written and spoken. Even simple pain, without the erotic element to it, was difficult to put into words – how could one describe the quality of pain so that the other felt it and understood it? There were tired adjectives and set phrases, certainly – ache, burning, stabbing, stinging. But what did these really convey? Then to add that further layer, of seeking to express the sensuality of being hit by his partner, it became inexpressible in this form. All he knew was that it had been all-encompassing; when he was in it, there was nothing else. Now that he was outside of it, he could not fully access it. He needed to give Julian some kind of reply still, however.

“Julian, it was so wonderful that I don't have words for it.”

Julian's eyes were full of a fondness as he looked at his partner. “I take it that means you wouldn't be averse to doing it again?”

Garak's mouth curved into a lazy smile. “Oh yes, my dear.”

“Good. Because I would like that a lot too. Watching you as I struck you, as you thanked me, watching you losing it completely, I think that's an image that will never pale for me, it was so hot.”

“Drunk on power?”

“Well, in a sense, yes. No-one has ever seen you like that before, have they? But I have. And I caused it, I get to witness you in that state. So yes, I do feel powerful and I do feel very turned on by that.”

He was sure Julian had continued to say something else but by then he could no longer remain awake and succumbed to his body's demands.

-

Garak awoke the next morning, a deep ache spreading through his buttocks and the backs of his thighs. He lay there, Julian still asleep, and he accustomed himself to the sensation, allowing it to flow through him. It was alike an echo of what had occurred the previous evening, a reminder. He arose form the bed carefully, making his way to the bathroom; his eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly as he regarded his body reflected in the mirror, his head turned over his shoulder in order to catch sight of the afflicted areas. His skin there had turned a dark shade of blue, lines visible in some places. The skin had even broken here and there but had not bled, there were only faint cracks indicating that the layer had been penetrated. He thought of the times he had injured his own flesh, inscribing a mythology there that only he could read. This was different, it had been enacted from different motivations – when he had attacked his own flesh, it had been a punishment, born of loathing, speaking to a wrong kind of recklessness and powerlessness. They were futile cuts, not solving anything, a replacement for something else. These bruises and scratches had been born of desire, of love, they spoke of liberation, of acceptance. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, regarding the supine form of his partner as he slumbered on, his hair bed-soft and messed, his limbs sprawled inelegantly, peacefulness evident. He could only wonder at this young man, his gentleness and hidden strength, his empathy and certainty, his awkwardness and unconventionality – he was a creation Garak would never have been able to conceive of encountering, nothing from his life on Cardassia and in the Obsidian Order had prepared him for this, or had ever intimated such possibilities existed. He could not lose him, not now, not after what they had recently lived through together, and especially not after the previous evening. Too much of himself was now bound up with this man due to the fact that it had been Julian himself who had coaxed out these aspects of himself. It was not the power which Julian wielded over him in their sex life which frightened him, it was this other power over him which left him anxious about the outcome of the war.


	13. Chapter 13

There was a Cardassian resistance now, led by Damar, news which had initially brought hope to Garak for his people. The Federation were doing what they could to support them and bolster their influence but it was not enough yet, they needed to do more. At least now, Garak once more experienced a sense of pride in his fellow Cardassians not related to their past but to their present, and their future. He took pride in their spirits, in how they were retrieving their own pride in themselves, their liberty and identity as Cardassians. They were inexperienced in such endeavours, however, and remained inflexible on certain key areas which hindered them, made them too predictable. Garak had a suspicion of what the plan was going to be before Sisko himself had even likely conceived of it. The Cardassian resistance needed training, and the Federation needed a Cardassian among them, a Cardassian who, they operated under the assumption of, was working for them. He waited for the meeting to be called, for him and Kira to be brought together and told of their mission and destination. 

Cardassia. 

He could not lie to himself (in regard to this), the remembered image still had great power over him, and the thought of being able to return, even under such conditions, was nearly overpowering. He had accustomed himself to exile – when there was no suggestion of hope it was easier to live with the situation, and it had become a low-level throb, an absence he could manage to keep dulled. Julian had helped, of course, but he could not quite be everything for him. Now, though, to believe there was a possibility of returning, it made daily life difficult to bear. He experienced phantom smells, perceiving scents he knew full well were impossible to be had on the station.  
He did not know how to share this with Julian – his partner would be able to empathise, certainly, he would do so beautifully. However, Julian had never loved a place as he did; he did not love Earth, he was not sentimentally attached to the station. He lived where he worked, and he lived where his partner was in exile. The only thing which prevented him from being fully carried away by the mirage of Cardassia was the threat it caused to him and his partner – they would be separated, and they did not know for how long. Also, returning to Cardassia would significantly increase the risk to Garak's life. They did not discuss this directly, as they both understood all too well what was coming and understood their respective motivations and choices. There was little time for games now, and with much regret, he and Julian had lain aside this part of their relationship for the moment, instead focusing on their study of Cardassi, Julian working with a greater sense of urgency, knowing that his expertise and ability could be called upon sooner than they had anticipated. They worked late into the evenings, and Garak understood that he was compelled to by a desire to leave at least this much of a legacy. If he did not survive the return to Cardassia he needed to be assured he had done all he could to not only help his partner prepare for life after the war, but also to pass his knowledge on to another so it could serve some kind of purpose. He knew he could trust the Doctor to take this knowledge and use it for good, to help others. This was of some consolation to Garak; yet, the prospect of potential death caused him to reflect on how little he had to show for in his life, how little he had to leave behind. It seemed terribly unfair – although he was well into middle-age, he had a sense of only just beginning, and it was unfair to have this cut off. There was so much he wanted to do and had hoped to do, and was now perhaps capable of executing. The unspoken fantasy of a garden to tend to in his old age and to share with Julian remained as strong an image as the mirage of Cardassia from his youth.  
Still, he thought to himself as he and Julian took their goodbyes in the privacy of their quarters, it was something. It had been something. Julian was unsettled by his imminent departure, he felt it in his partner's fidgety stance, his tense mouth. Julian had never had a facility for controlling his facial expressions. Garak traced his fingers along his partner's jaw, then over his lips, before stroking his thumb over his cheek; Julian remained still, his arms clasped around his partner's waist. 

“K'thehesh më, Elim”. Julian said quietly. “Return to me, Elim.”

Garak could not promise him this and so he said nothing.

-

Garak thought of his partner often as he waited in the basement of the house he had grown up in. He continued to be amused by the irony of his position, although it was an improvement on a cupboard, at the very least. He, Kira, and Damar had arrived under the cover of dark and so he had not been able to catch a glimpse of his home planet, which was perhaps for the best, considering the current situation. He found it difficult to sleep at night, struggling to adapt to sharing his space with two others, and not having Julian with him. Although their current mission was of the utmost importance, he found it a challenge to focus on it; now that he had finally returned to Cardassia, the fixed image of his exile, he could not connect with it. His mind turned towards the space station, his thoughts on the image of his absent partner. As he passed the long hours by reading, returning to old familiar Cardassian texts and finding that it was he and not the works that had changed, he wished he was sharing a sofa with Julian, his partner's legs or head in his lap, reading together in silence or deep in discussion. Listening to the exchanges between Kira and Damar, he wished he could hear Julian's voice, telling him about the day he had had at the infirmary. Mostly, as he lay in the darkness, unable to sleep, he wished he could feel Julian's eyes on him, the particular exasperated fondness they took on or how they darkened with arousal, the way they shimmered hazel in certain lights, when he was full of passion for some subject or compassion for some other. 

Garak also wished, if he could not have Julian here, to be able to at least have a decent drink. It would help to dull the edges, to cope with the uncertain and unending now, the waiting for something to happen to bring about their future. One evening, Mila, in her resourcefulness, managed to procure a deal of kanar for them. It was not a great vintage but it tasted exquisite to Garak, and he could see it in Damar's face as well. He also witnessed a moment of recognition between them, a look exchanged as they poured the first glass – neither of them could claim to have a neutral relationship to alcoholic substances, although it was certainly much improved from what it had once been, and was now under their control to a certain degree. Garak found himself wondering how many of his compatriots had become reliant on alcohol, finding in it a deceptively easy way to stop the contradictions of the reality they lived. 

However, this evening called for drinks shared, the safest way for them to let off some of the energy and tension they had built up. Now, they needed to convince Kira to partake. Indeed, the fact of the only drink available being kanar gave them something to discuss.

“How can you drink this stuff? As much as I appreciate Mila's intrepidness and her thoughtfulness.”

“It is an acquired taste.”

“It's just too much of everything mixed together, but also like one taste doesn't dominate. And the consistency!” She wrinkled her nose as she swallowed an over-large mouthful of the viscous stuff.

Garak had come to enjoy her company – she was a fine companion in war or during a siege, practical and capable, but also able to recognise the absurdity of a situation and laugh over it. He looked at her bright brown eyes, being reminded too easily of one who was not present. He wondered if she would ever know of the impact she had had on his relationship with the Doctor, how her teasing had brought about such an unpredictable course of events and the deepening understanding between them.  
She had changed slightly since Jadzia Dax had been killed. She had become softer towards others, though she would have been furious to hear such an assessment. But this was the case, her interactions with her friends and valued colleagues had become more open, gentler, her smile more in evidence now than before. She had learned to cherish these times and to express her warm feelings. The legacy of Jadzia Dax, he thought to himself, how she had changed the Bajoran simply by caring deeply for her and receiving the same in return. 

“But you see -”. Garak began. “- that is indeed the most important characteristic of kanar – the layers of different tastes, some almost hiding each other, difficult to separate, with, as you note, no single taste dominating your palette. You have to shift through the different shades." 

“Do you agree with this?” She asked Damar. 

“I must admit, there was a period where I was far more concerned with the quantity of kanar I could get through than its quality. But Garak is correct in his assessment. It is a drink that does not give up all its secrets on the first acquaintance.”

“How perfectly Cardassian.” 

Damar's face was expressionless as he took a sip, holding it in his mouth, rolling it around, exhaling through his nose. He hummed before nodding and swallowing, giving the drink far more consideration than its vintage warranted. 

“Pepper. Hard to separate it out from the aniseed, which has a heavier note but it is certainly there.”

Kira's eyes were wide, focused on Damar's meditation on kanar, seeming somewhat taken aback and also impressed by it. 

“Then there's a sweetness smuggled in there, nearly neutralised by the dryness of the other components. Really.” Now he closed his eyes and though Kira had not twigged, this was when Garak realised Damar was putting on a show, and he concealed an amused smile. “Really, it tastes like – wisdom. It is a wise kanar, ancient, like a prophet in a wormhole.” 

Garak took a sip of his own kanar, to cover his mirth but also because the kanar did somehow taste better now, warming him, its mediocrity forgotten. 

“Quite.” He agreed with Damar. “It is reminiscent of Preloc's narratives – winding, detailed, with a long, long lingering aftertaste.”

Garak felt Kira's eyes on him now, and unfortunately, Damar corpsed, snorting into his glass. She snapped back to him. 

“You – you!!”

Garak laughed too, unable to suppress it any longer, the sound bubbling deep in his chest.

“Oh, that's just great.” But there was no bite to her words as she too was laughing, her eyes sparkling. “I can't believe you really had me going there. Here I was, thinking I was bearing witness to some noble cultural ritual.” She shook her head, still laughing. 

“You should have seen your face, it was practically reverent.” Garak commented.

“I think this calls for more kanar.” Damar poured some more of the drink for each of them. Their laughter slowly subsided. “We should drink to something. What should it be?”

Kira had her glass raised, waiting for them to make a suggestion. 

“To the future, surely?” She supplied when neither of them were forthcoming, and raised her glass. 

“To liberation.” Damar raised his glass.

“To all those who will fall in achieving liberation and before that future arrives.” 

Damar nodded accepting this, and Kira's face became more melancholy but also resigned – she knew well the costs of war and liberation. 

So, they drank to that, and to many other things as well. There was a pinker tinge to Kira's features, lending her a blooming freshness, if an artificial one.

“Garak.” She reached for the kanar, and in focusing on him and the drink, missed Damar's grin. “What are you going to do when the war's over?”

He sipped at his own drink, buying time. She had asked so directly, it would not be easy to put her off with vague or deflecting words.

“You are assuming that I will survive the war.” 

“People like you usually find a way of surviving.”

He inclined his head, acknowledging the veracity of this.

“Nevertheless – it remains to be seen. Also, my future depends on the outcome of this war.”

“You're saying that if the Dominion are the victors that bodes ill for you.”

“Indeed, it would.” Damar confirmed. “I imagine it wouldn't be long before he was kidnapped or persuaded somehow to return to Cardassia where he would disappear.” 

“My status depends on the victor. If the Dominion emerge victorious, I will be labelled a traitor.”

“Even if they aren't, many will still label you that.” She replied. “What would you do with someone like Garak?”

“You mean if we survive to take power, if we prevail?” Damar asked. “Well. I would put him into an important position, as an advisor most likely.”

Garak sought to cover the surprise he knew must be evident on his face. 

“Do you not want it?” Damar raised a sceptical eye ridge. “Or did you not plan on returning to Cardassia after the war?” 

“Damar, I have been in exile for years now, of course I want to return to Cardassia. The question is rather what is best for Cardassia.”

“And you wouldn't be?” 

“Not in such a public role. Perhaps somewhere in the shadows where I can effect change without anyone being able to trace it back to me.”

“You don't believe they would accept it?” 

“I don't believe it would be good for the new Cardassia we hope to raise from the ashes.” 

He noted that Kira's expressions were conflicted, that she agreed with what he said but that something in her was not allowing her to do so without doubts.

“Garak, do you know what's going to happen after the war if we defeat the Dominion and begin to work on ushering in a new era for our people?” Damar swirled his kanar in his glass. “There is going to be a lot of Cardassians who will suddenly and inexplicably have a gap in their biographies. They will maintain that they did nothing during the war, nothing during the occupation, as if nothing from the world they grew up in and lived in touched them. They will do this in the belief that this is what is needed to be accepted into this new society, and that tacitly, by accepting the unbelievable omission, are rather confirming that we know and condone what they did, that we are admitting that any product of our society is not fit for a new Cardassia, with democratic principles. We are going to have enough outside representatives claiming this already, wanting us to renounce everything Cardassia ever stood for instead of taking the basis of our society and developing it. I do not want to give any one any ammunition to convince Cardassia to submit to being a mere copy of a Star Fleet planet; I also don't want outside influences trying to impose this vision on us either as it will be the best way to get the majority of Cardassians to reject any democratic ideas they see as being connected to a power they believe wants to humiliate them. It is a complicated position to negotiate but I believe it will secure the integrity of Cardassia with greater certainty.”

Kira was quiet, considering Damar's words carefully. 

“So.” Garak said. “You want to use me, a Cardassian with links to the previous ruling elite, but who has now learned new ways of being a patriot, to become some sort of emblem for our aims.”

It was a smart strategy and one with far-reaching influence; Garak would look forward to being able to work with Damar if this was indicative of how his mind worked.

“But they will have to mean it, won't they?” Kira added. 

“That they truly follow more democratic principles whilst holding Cardassian values? Yes. That will be the tricky part, finding out who has genuinely changed and those who only do so outwardly. We will have to have war trials.” Damar met her gaze firmly. “Which will have to include the occupation of Bajor.” 

She reached for the kanar again, sloshing it into her glass. “How long do you imagine you'll stay in power if you take such a stance?”

He shrugged. “It will be unpopular but it will also help us weed out those who cannot adapt or be reformed.”

“To weed out threats?”

“Whilst also creating a new way for Cardassians to be proud of themselves – they will be the planet who reckoned fully and publicly with their past, something not even Star Fleet or Earth has ever done properly. They can feel superior then that way.”

Garak sat, listening, not contributing; he admired Damar's mix of genuinely held values married to a knack for seeing how these good values would keep his people happy with the new government, and would quash unrest. His soldier's mind seemed to instinctively understand how to apply these same strategies to politics and diplomacy. He would not get sentimental at the wrong time. Yes, Garak would very much look forward to working with this particular Cardassian.

“What if Garak doesn't go back to Cardassia though?” She asked Damar, but looked at Garak. He poured another large measure for them all. If they were ever going to be drunk together, now was the time for there would be no celebrations even if they emerged victorious, for they would not drink over the unending lines of fallen Cardassians, and their allies and enemies. He knew how the waste of life was what disturbed his Doctor the most about this war. 

Damar turned his gaze to him, questioning. Garak sighed at the crassness of it all.

“I believe Kira is referring to the fact that I have ties to someone from Earth, in Star Fleet, which would hinder my returning to Cardassia after the war. However, you have failed to take into account that the good Doctor has already considered that, and has already made it clear that no matter the outcome of the war, he would be compelled to come to Cardassia from a purely humanitarian motivation.”

“Excellent.” Damar broke in. “What better than to have a Star Fleet Chief Medical Officer be so moved by our plight as to come to the aid of Cardassia.” 

Kira made a dismissive noise. 

“And? So what if you find my interpretation of it cynical. My people will get the benefit of a valued doctor, a person whose services we will desperately need. Being treated by, and having to work with a non-Cardassian will help correct our xenophobic tendencies. And yes, it will look great for us, and I promise you already I will milk it for what it is worth. But what of it? It serves us practically, alleviating suffering, and gives us something to sell as a narrative, another harmless way for Cardassians to feel pride again, that a non-Cardassian would choose to live among them.” Damar remained unbothered by the different and shifting currents around him, absorbing them with ease even when slightly intoxicated.

“Well, I only hope the Cardassians don't mind working with someone who can't speak Cardassi.”

“The Doctor has been much preoccupied with the study of Cardassi.”

“Even better!” Damar declared.

“Julian has learnt Cardassi?” Her demeanour had softened, whether from the kanar or from realising what this meant. 

Garak nodded, turning his gaze to his drink. 

“You – you must be very proud of him.” Her voice was gentle, if slightly slurred. 

He made no response and Kira filled his glass once more.

-

Garak made his way down the familiar corridors – he was exhausted, and he felt grubby, as if the dust from the rubble and destruction on Cardassia were worn into his very scales. His return to the station after the official end of the war had been even more underwhelming than he had pessimistically imagined. He had stepped onto the promenade, and sought to contact Julian, and although his voice had been filled with relief, he had also had to tell Garak he could not come greet him and welcome him back as he was dealing with more wounded and more casualties from the war. With a rushed promise to be there as soon as he could, he had ended the communication, leaving Garak feeling hollow, unreal almost. 

So much had been lost. Millions upon millions upon millions dead. Damar, the leader of their movement and the hope for their future. Well, Garak thought to himself wryly as he approached the quarters he shared with the Doctor, Damar would have been the first to instrumentalise his demise and create a martyr myth, to incite his fellow compatriots to not let his sacrifice have been for nothing. He would miss him; Cardassia would certainly feel the lack of him too. It was the void he left which concerned Garak more than anything else, and the sense that in Damar's absence, pressure on him had now increased. He could not remain on the station for long. Even if Julian had to remain longer to tend the wounded, Garak would need to remove himself to Cardassia urgently in order to begin the monumental task ahead of them all. He sought to focus on this and to keep the image of Mila tumbling to the bottom of the staircase, dead, from his mind. Shame and rage ate him, that he could not grant her the burial honours that were the very least she had deserved for her long and small life. He sought to focus on the task ahead of him to keep the image of his decimated planet from his mind, its strangely empty skyline, devoid of buildings, smoke hanging over everything, the city unnaturally quiet, bloated bodies left by the side of the street whilst those who were still alive silently and grimly set to work at clearing the rubble, others still sat, unmoving, not knowing how to begin, all silent. 

The doors to their quarters opened and Garak stepped inside; he then uttered a lower cry of frustration and disgust. It was just one thing too many, on top of everything he had witnessed to have to return to quarters in this state. In his absence, the Doctor had evidently given up any attempt at keeping some kind of order on the rooms. He tried to remind himself that the Doctor certainly had other priorities during this time, yet Garak still found himself irrationally angered by the sight that greeted him. Every surface was overrun with padds and papers, texts, clothes hung carelessly over the backs of chairs and the sofa, even the floor had small stacks of files and padds. This was not to borne and instead of heading into the bathroom to clean himself, Garak began to examine the piles, wondering where to even begin with in organising them and moving them, already berating Julian in his mind for allowing things to get into such a state. However, even as he banged the items down, moving them from one place to another, he began to notice their titles, what was written on them, and his actions became slower, and he started to pick up each text or padd and examine them individually. There were several articles in Cardassi on various medical issues pertaining to Cardassians, things even Garak did not understand. There were textbooks of Cardassian history, ancient and recent, there were padds containing Cardassi novels, mostly enigma tales but also many classics amongst them too. He moved into the bedroom and found further disorder and he sifted through it, finding Cardassi dictionaries and grammars. Kukalaka regarded him balefully from his position on the unmade bed. He sat down on the mattress, one hand turning over the different texts and padds, the other reaching for Kukalaka, to rub the little creature's paws. He fell into reading one of the padds, his eyes moving slowly over the Cardassi letters, but far more interested in Julian's notes added to the text at the side in Federation Standard, sometimes breaking into Cardassi, comments on the content, questions, all framed as if he were participating in a conversation with another. 

So absorbed was he that he did not hear the doors swishing open and Julian entering their quarters. 

“Oh, Elim, I am so sorry, I had hoped to clear this all up before you got back, oh what a terrible welcome for you.” 

Garak looked up slowly at his partner, as if stunned. There he was, the man he called his partner, his face gaunter than before, his eyes older, and he looked so beautiful. He struggled to speak.

“My dearest Julian, what are all these texts and padds?” 

Julian sat down beside him on the mattress. “Well. Uhm. I really struggled to sleep this past while, during the war, while you were gone.” He began. Garak continued to hold a padd containing a particularly obscure enigma tale. “I couldn't sleep, and I missed you. I thought of you on Cardassia, and what was happening to you and others there. It helped somewhat to read.” He made a self-deprecating noise. “I began to write notes and record a log, and well, they were addressed to you, really. When I read these books and texts, I felt you weren't so far away. Reading about Cardassia and learning about the language, I felt closer to you and it helped keep me company during those unending nights. I couldn't contact you but this way I told myself I was keeping a record of all the things I wanted to ask you about once you were back. It was a way of being able to talk to you, I suppose. It's all very silly, Elim, and the mess I've left, it's unforgivably rude of me.” 

Julian made to rise but Garak seemed to wake out of his stupor and one of his hands shot out and gripped his partner's forearm with a fierce tightness. Julian remained beside him, not complaining about the hold Garak had him in, instead leaning in closer to him.

“Julian. Julian.” He said in a low voice. “I have just come from my home planet, ravaged by war. Historical buildings have been obliterated. The cities cannot be called cities. The libraries and universities, the schools, the government buildings, damaged or destroyed. The land is burnt black in places, inhospitable to life. Cardassian bodies lie in the street, so many Cardassians in the prime of their lives, they should have been the leaders or artists or architects of the next generation. I have come from a dead Cardassia, and I come here, into our quarters, and find instead that Cardassia lives on.” He loosened his grip on Julian's wrist and raised his hand to his lips, kissing it. Julian leaned in further, pressing his head against Garak's. 

Julian gestured to Garak that he was turning off his universal translator, and Garak reciprocated the gesture.

"Mall'in prë tysh k'ashte, dasshurim." I missed you, love. The sound of Cardassi in Julian's voice caressed him, softening the pain he had been carrying around for weeks. 

“Doctor, you have the most terrible habit of giving me real hope in my darkest moments.”


	14. Chapter 14

Garak would have rather taken a skimmer straight home after work and not have gone for a walk at all – he was physically and mentally done in by the end of each day and it took all his training from the Obsidian Order to steel himself to maintain this ritual. He had to position it as such, a ritual, not a habit, not mere exercise, he had to imbue it with the importance it warranted. When he did set out on these evening perambulations, circling the main streets of the capital, detouring down side streets before finally allowing himself to turn towards home, he would have further preferred to have kept his eyes on the ground, to not bear witness to what was around him. But this was the very point of these rounds, to bear witness, to keep a catalogue of what was there, what was not, to commit the faces of these Cardassians to his mind, imprinted there, so that he would not forget, so that his purpose would not dull, so that he could combat the growing sense of weariness and futility by keeping these urgent needs of Cardassia with him at all times.

Each day seemed unending to Garak; he arose with first light, even before his partner who had an equally demanding position at the hospital. Another ritual for Elim was to sit in the evening, nursing a kanar (the one thing of use his father had left him on this planet, the stocked cellar), and he would encourage Julian to tell him about everything that happened in his days as a doctor on a planet recently defeated in war, still mostly friendless and viewed with great suspicion, often with the unvoiced sentiment of how Cardassia deserved what she got. He did not need much encouragement or prodding to talk – his frustration with and disgust for those who claimed to be Cardassia's new allies was rough and direct. They lacked supplies, they lacked staff, they barely had facilities and every day brought more injured, more suffering from a lack of food, access to clean water, to basic medicine. However, as many continued to die ensuring that there was a brisk turnover. Garak winced at the tone of Julian's voice, and his chest was heavy when he saw the new grim, determined set to his mouth and eyes that had been put there by coming to Cardassia; yet he knew he could not be as narcissistic as to indulge himself in the self-flagellating belief that it was his fault Julian was here, for he knew this was not true. Julian was here because this was where his healing abilities were needed the most and his conscience would not allow him to do otherwise. His particular quality of single-mindedness to the point of monomania helped him to commit fully to this cause in a way Garak wished he could harness for himself. He had to remind himself that his partner was not only significantly younger than him, but he was also genetically enhanced to boot.

Each day was not only unending, it was unchanging. No matter what he had done the previous day, nothing seemed to change, to develop or to have an effect, to move forward. He would spend the day overseeing as many operations across the district as he could, processing orders upon orders, engaging in countless meetings, to try and win some small thing, delegating, recruiting. His eyes ached constantly, which was unfair; he had finally gained respite from the unnaturally bright lights of the space station and even now back on his home planet, his eyes had no respite, swollen from insufficient sleep and overuse, exacerbated by the dust-filled ritual walks he compelled himself to undertake every evening. Julian had not even noticed that his partner was doing this, so intensely was he focused on his own duties.

Garak walked, holding his body tall and erect in spite of the weariness which weighed down his limbs; he watched Cardassians rummaging amongst the rubble and rubbish, their fine features made ghoulish by their underfed frames, he watched other Cardassians determinedly attempting to clean or repair their homes, their faces dark, living off of a remembered pride and little else. He didn't see many children. He noted the buildings which had disappeared, making the landscape resemble an old crone's mouth, the few remaining teeth looking grotesque amidst such blackness. He saw this all and took it all in and did not let it go.  
He wended his way home, his temples tense with pressure, built up over countless weeks - he needed relief. He needed what the Doctor could give him. He was disgusted with himself for his weakness but he gave into it, knowing he would enter the home he shared with Julian and beg him to take him in hand, and he would thank him, for the relief, for what his blows, and words would bring him. As he neared their home, he realised he hoped for more, more than what they had done previously during these scenes. He could scarcely admit to himself the acts he hoped Julian would subject him to. An unwanted thought forced its way into his mind, the long clandestine meeting they had had today and what it had concerned. He fought this back down, focusing on the Doctor, making himself visualise how he would hurt him and use him, how he would be brought to a place where he would feel nothing and be nothing. 

He entered their home; in another time, a time not allowed to them in the aftermath of war and defeat, he would have experienced fully the joys and intimacy of setting up home with his partner, attending to fitting out the rooms and acquiring material to adorn the floors, beds, to frame the windows as curtains. Instead, their home was functional, the two of them hardly spending time there other than to sleep. One day, he promised himself, although he could not imagine when that day would come.  
Julian was home before him, in the kitchen, and out of the habit of working at the hospital, was eating a hastily fixed and sparse meal standing up. Before this would have been something Garak could not have envisioned tolerating in his home, particularly the home he shared with his partner, but their lives now were far different from what he had envisioned for them both. Garak had learned over the past weeks to ignore hunger without too great a difficulty, for he found he had lost the enjoyment in it.  
He approached Julian, who only managed a tired smile when he registered his partner's presence. They had not been intimate for some time now, not out of a lack of desire or cooling of interest, but simply because they had no energy, and hardly time either. Also, for Garak – he could not speak for Julian – he found it difficult to indulge in such pleasure with his lover when there was so much suffering around him. It seemed obscene to him, and it impacted on his ability to perform also. His body did not react to Julian's touch, and the first time he had been incapable of everting, he had not even been ashamed or frustrated, he had simply accepted it. They had not attempted to engage in lovemaking since, but now Garak felt a desperate need inside him, the like which he had not experienced for sometime; it was loud and panicked and incessant. 

He did not know how to ask the Doctor so directly for what he needed. He did not wish to be a burden, for Julian to have to sigh and tiredly attempt to act the role he had been assigned. Garak did not believe he could bear that look in Julian's eyes. 

“Love. You're miles away.” Julian had put down his empty bowl and extended his hand, holding his partner's elbow. 

“I apologise, Doctor.” His voice was quiet but it did not betray him in any other way so far.

“Elim, has something happened? Is it bad news for Cardassia? For you?” His grip tightened and Garak hurried to reassure him. 

“No, my dear, nothing that can't wait.” He fought down the thought of the final meeting that had taken place earlier. “It is – well, it is difficult to be eloquent about these things, that is why I may have had a preoccupied appearance.”

“To be eloquent about what?” Julian's brown eyes were focused intently on him, flickering, trying to read him. 

“If it could be arranged today, Doctor, I had hoped to spend some – time with you.”

Julian shifted on his feet, his expression changing, still assessing him. Garak pressed on as best he could. 

“We have engaged some more – interesting roles before, and I found myself thinking about them, with great fondness.”

“And interest?” 

He inclined his head. Garak did not know how long he could maintain this proper exterior for, he was so close to begging Julian to take over and to give him what he so needed; perhaps this was the Doctor's aim. If it was he would give it to him. 

“Doctor, with immense interest. I must admit to a degree of urgency, on my part.” 

Julian moved his hand from his elbow to his neck, and caressed his neck ridge. Garak leaned into the touch, barely containing himself. He was left uncertain still, his partner's expression more thoughtful and questioning than determined and ready. 

“Shall we move to the bedroom?” Garak asked, his voice still level, but the forwardness of his request indicating the state he was in. Julian acquiesced and soon they were ensconced in their bedroom, the door shut firmly behind them. Garak's breath had quickened as he imagined the imminent release Julian would give him. If Julian would give it to him. He wanted to begin to strip, to present himself to the Doctor, but he held his hands uncertainly still, waiting for an order, for the first indication that this was going to begin. 

“Elim, what do you want from me today?” 

Garak all but sighed in frustration. This pace would not do at all. Could he goad the Doctor into giving him what he needed, could he do or say something which would warrant punishment?

“If you can't tell me what you want me to do, then I don't feel able to do it, Elim. You have to understand that. We've always discussed what you wanted to do before.” 

This was not what Garak wanted, Julian's patient voice, insistent in its sensibility; he wanted to hear the Doctor using his voice to order him, the colder the better. Why wasn't this working the way it had before? Before it had been almost effortless, the only things holding them back were Elim's uncertainties; and now, when he was so certain of what he needed and wanted, Julian was dragging his feet. 

“Do you want me to tie you up? Do you want to kneel? Do you want me to spank you? What is it you're looking for, love?” 

“All of those things, Doctor.”

“And?” Julian pressed. They were standing beside the bed and Julian had made no further move towards it or to disrobe or even to touch his partner. 

“And.” Garak blinked a few times, his eyes still swollen and aching from the dust and lack of rest. “All of that but – harder.”

“Harder.” It was not a question and Garak began to experience an almost hysterical edge to his desperation. Could he dare to reach for the easiest but most hurtful words he knew he could use against his partner, would that finally galvanize him into action? Such was the double-edged nature of love; being intimate with someone to this degree meant you knew all of them, or as much as you could both manage and allow, and by turn, you also possessed the most knowledge to hurt them. 

Julian nodded slowly. “Alright. Elim, what's your safe word?” 

Garak wanted to roll his eyes but understood that if he didn't play along with this that Julian would not begin. “Invoices.”

His eyes were dark, not from arousal, they were dark intent points focussed on him and Garak knew he still hadn't fully moved into his role and he continued to fear that this wouldn't come together the way he needed it to. If he had to, he would return the favour for Julian as soon as he could, to make up for undertaking this when he did not appear to be actively enthusiastic about it, although he was not putting a stop to it. Another part of his mind barked at him, muffled, and Garak forced it away from himself.

“Undress and lie down on the bed for me, Elim. Then I'll massage you to prepare you.”

“Do we really need to do that?”

“What?” Julian's face was blank. 

“The massage.”

“It is a necessary part of it to prevent too much damage to your scales. Also, it is very pleasurable for me to work your body over with my hands in this manner. I had thought it was enjoyable for you too but perhaps I was mistaken.” 

“Not at all, Doctor.” Garak's voice had become overly smooth, oiled almost, and he tried to ignore that this was his politician's voice. He did not believe he had used this voice on Julian since the very beginning of their friendship all those years ago. “However, as I was looking for something, well, rougher today, then we could consider foregoing this aspect of it?”

“You want me to inflict real pain on you, lasting pain? You want me to intentionally break your skin and scales, to draw blood?” The question was posed with no intonation and yet Garak shivered and nodded. 

“Anything, Doctor, everything. Do what you want with me.” His voice was faint now, barely a hiss and yet it was all too clear in the overly quiet room. “Burn me, Doctor, maim me, I will take it and thank you, call me anything you can think of, I am quite certain you have a number of things you have built over the years you would like to say to me, and you would be justified in doing so. Take the ropes and tie them so tight, Doctor, leave me at your mercy, laugh at my helpless state, do what you want and can to show your dominance, take your fists to me, take a belt to me, tie it around my neck and pull, piss on me, slap my face, you know how to hurt me, Doctor, you know how to do it.”  
Garak finished talking and he was almost dizzy. 

Julian remained still. Garak felt the silence opening up between them and continuing as he waited for his partner to begin. Finally, he said: “Kneel.” 

Kneel? He didn't want to kneel now, he wanted the Doctor to tie him up immediately and proceed with any one of the actions he had just described.

“Doctor, could we perhaps skip over the kneeling part this time and proceed straight to -”.

The Doctor cut him off. “Elim Garak, I have ordered you to kneel and you will obey me.” 

And though the action was not what he wanted now, the tone of voice certainly was, and he sank to the ground gratefully, anticipating what the Doctor would do to him after this, he could almost taste and feel the blissed out state where words meant nothing. The Doctor seated himself on the edge of the bed and watched Garak as he kneeled. Garak felt the familiar burn go through his thighs and welcomed it. However, it wasn't enough, and once he had accustomed himself to the sensation it had little effect on him. He shuffled slightly, wondering when the Doctor would allow him up and they could proceed. He looked at Julian; he was impassive still, and had not given him any of his usual words of praise about how well he knelt for him, how good he was, and though Garak was glad of this, he also found he missed it. He wanted it and yet he found himself rejecting his want for it, mocking himself silently.  
He continued to kneel, holding his body upright and still, waiting. It was too quiet and the distance between him and the Doctor seemed vast. This is how it is supposed to be, you asked him to be cold, he berated himself. His breath quickened but not in a pleasant manner, not a fluttery anticipation; it was the precursor to panic. As he continued to kneel and nothing happened and the Doctor remained silent and still, his mind became overcrowded, the thoughts he had been forcing down no longer willing to obey him, and his control slipped away. This was not how it was meant to be, he thought as he tried to keep as still as his partner, as he sought to wrest control back over his quickly escalating alarm, agitation in his limbs. 

“Doctor, please, you have to do something, I can't kneel any longer.”

“Elim, you will kneel until I say otherwise.”

He had nothing to focus on as he kneeled and everything crowded in on him, and he realised then this had been his partner's intention all along, and he gave a dry sob as his chest heaved, gasping for air, not able to get enough of it. He cursed between these fast, shallow breathes, cursing his partner, cursing himself, and he felt his limbs beginning to quiver, and he fell forward, supporting himself on shaky arms, his breath completely wild now, his head spinning. Then Julian's warm hands were around his shoulders, he had joined him on the floor, and he gently, insistently pulled him upright and against him, keeping his palm on his chest.

“Love, what happened? Please tell me.” 

Garak laughed, with bitterness, laughing at himself; he had forgotten that if he knew his partner well enough to know what words would hurt him most that then the Doctor in turn knew him too well, and could see what he needed even when he wanted to deny it or distract himself. That had always been the challenge of being with Julian, he had not been able to lie to himself as he had before, which was all too apparent now. 

“Elim, you came in with such a dead look in your eyes, I was frightened. And then you asked me for things you had specifically told me before you never wanted. I was frightened then that if I did them it would ruin what we have when we do these scenes because I was so unsure whether you were, are, in the right place for this. You know I love doing this with you but not like this, Elim, this has nothing to do with desire, let alone love.” 

He rubbed circles on his back and Garak felt his breath slowing although his heart still pounded and his chest was constricted and the universe seemed to have shrunk down to a tiny inescapable dark tunnel. 

“Julian.” He croaked. “There was a meeting today. There are going to be war trials. We knew this was coming.” He licked his parched lips. “I had prepared myself for seeing my own name on the list of defendants, I had prepared myself for inevitable arrest.”

“Elim.” Julian gasped. “You never said. Have you been thinking this since we arrived on Cardassia?”

“Oh, since before that, long before that. But Julian – my name isn't on the list.”

“Isn't that good news? I mean, I imagine you will still be called as a witness in all likelihood.”

Garak shook his head, feeling his breath began to quicken again and Julian tightened his hold on him. “Julian, My name should be on that list. You know this. Don't pretend, it isn't becoming. My past may not be an issue for you but it is for me, and it should be for this new democratic Cardassia. Why is my name not on that list?” 

Julian removed one of his hands and took Garak's chin, tilting it up towards him. “Elim. Just because you are not going to be punished by Cardassia for what you have done does not mean that I will. You cannot force me to become your judge and punisher, and to twist something beautiful that we have into your punishment and sentence. I refuse it. I refuse it.” He finished vehemently, his eyes shining with a sea of emotions.  
Garak slumped in Julian's arms, his forehead pressing against his partner, gripping his upper arms tightly. 

“But if you don't, and they won't, then who will, Julian?” 

“Why do you need to be punished, Elim? What good will it do?”

Garak was silent, not agreeing with his partner, but also not knowing how to answer his question either.


	15. Chapter 15

Little else was said that evening; Julian insisted that they leave this topic until they had both slept, and Garak had no issue with this. They retired to bed earlier than usual, foregoing their evening ritual of sharing kanar and recounting the day's events to one another. Garak lay on the bed, his limbs still feeling weak and shaky, and Julian joined him, holding something in his hands. It was a cooling press he applied to his partner's swollen eyes. It provided much needed relief, taking the worst of the ache from him. Julian's fingertips stroked over his head, caressing his neck then, the act not a sensuous one this time but purely intimate. When they were ready to sleep, Julian moved forward, and kissed first the mark on his forehead, then the hollow at his throat, whilst brushing his fingertips over the marking on his chest. Garak returned the gesture, pressing his lips to where his partner's marking should have been, feeling warmed by it, enfolded almost.  
He slept heavily, and it was with great difficulty that he awoke the following morning; he had slept well, however this one good night's sleep only underscored how under slept he had been in recent weeks.  
They sat down to their meagre breakfast, Julian insisting once more, and Garak only happy to acquiesce, the decisions taken out of his hands. He made a dismissive snort.

“I did not believe I would one day find myself sitting on Cardassia Prime, thinking fondly of our times together at the replimat on DS9 and yet, here we are.”

Julian laughed briefly, his eyes crinkling, before he put down his cup and reached out for his partner's hands. Garak met him in the middle of the table, rubbing his fingertips over the Doctor's long and slender fingers, their appearance belying their strength. 

“Elim.” Julian began. “I have a proposal to make.” 

“I would be amenable to hearing it, Doctor.”

“Yesterday, you came to me, wanting something harder and rougher from me.”

Garak winced inwardly at hearing this repeated back to him, and thought of all the other things he had said to his partner. 

“We can discuss that at another point, that isn't so relevant right now I don't believe. However, I do want to return to it, and talk about the things you said, love. I don't want to presume, and you can tell me yes or no, but I do feel most of what you claimed to want were not things you truly wanted me to give you. But I still wonder if there was a kernel of truth in there, and if yes, then we can go through that and work out a way to do whichever of those things you do really want but without them being experienced as a punishment or degradation by you. Would that be alright?”

Garak nodded several times, struggling to meet his partner's eyes. Thankfully, Julian did not press him further. 

“Leaving that aside, my proposal is this. Do you remember when we first began discussing what your interests and desires were in this respect and I mentioned how it does not need to be reserved only for the bedroom, it can be applied outside of it too? At the time you expressed some curiosity about it and I wanted to offer this to you now. How would you feel if we were to continue this relationship outside of a purely sexual context?”  
“You would – control me entirely?” 

“Not exactly. We would discuss that beforehand, work it out. But yes, you would continue to obey me on our day-to-day life in certain ways.”

Garak experienced an unexpected rush of longing to take what Julian was offering him, to give him control of his life. Before he became carried away by this, and somewhat taken aback at his body's strong instinctive reaction, he tried to focus on the immediate issues and concerns that presented themselves to him. 

“This cannot impact on our professional duties.”

“Absolutely not. I would never place you, or myself, in a situation where this could compromise us in that way. It remains private, and our duties always take precedence.”

That established, Garak had further questions. “How would this manifest?”

“Well, the general idea would be that you cannot do something without my approving it, and if you want something, you have to ask my permission for it. If you did not follow this and obey me, then I would have to remind you of your role and what that entails.”

Garak felt the starting of a liquid heat in his lower abdomen at his partner's words, and he was reminded of how the Doctor had caught him in the act of masturbation and had forbidden it without his permission, he was reminded of how he had instinctively asked the Doctor if he had permission to speak whilst he was kneeling. He did not know why it appealed to him to have the Doctor take over his life in such a way and he was not able to analyse that just at this moment. He only knew that he wanted it, and that the Doctor could give it to him, and could be trusted with such a great amount of control. Perhaps this was the arousing aspect of it – being aware that he was placing himself in a situation that would under every other circumstance be life-threatening and panic-inducing, and yet, because it was Julian, it was not. The manner in which Julian handled power and control was so very human, in the best sense of that word, bearing little resemblance to how Tain had deployed power, how his own schooling and training had formed him, determined by this particularly insidious type of power and control. 

“Elim, you are allowed to be uncertain about this. It is a lot bigger than what we have been doing. I only suggest because I have the feeling that it might be beneficial to you.”

“Is that your professional opinion, Doctor?” 

“Professional and personal.” His lips curled in a smile, his brown eyes soft. “We're trying to carve out a life for ourselves here, Elim, and it is a difficult time to be doing so. I don't want us to have come so far, to have survived the war, only to wreck ourselves in the process of trying to build up this planet and her people.” 

Garak could see the current of concern for him in Julian's expression. He sighed.

“And I had been worried that you were the one who would be the greater cause for concern during this initial period settling into Cardassia. Well.”

He released Julian's hands and sipped from his lukewarm cup of tea and steeled himself to address the specifics of the proposal, fighting against his conditioned desire to shy away from such direct expressions.  
“What kind of relationship would this be precisely, Doctor? Would it just be that you dictate my daily life or do I have to perform – actions for you?”

“You mean a slave aspect? Elim, forgive me if I am wrong, but I cannot imagine you would find that appealing.”

He shook his head, confirming this for his partner. “I am happy to do things for you Doctor, particularly in this role but I do baulk at the idea of having to engage in degrading power plays, things asked of me merely so you can demonstrate that I am beneath you.”

“I don't think I would care for that too much either, I think we have established that I have no desire to humiliate or degrade you. But I will note that you would like to do things for me. I am sure I can think of something.” His smile returned, with a different shade this time, a hunger to it which affected Elim strongly.

It seemed incredible sometimes to Garak how normal Julian made it seem to discuss such topics; he had never envisioned being able to cultivate this type of relationship on his home planet. He looked at the shadows beneath Julian's eyes, the tiredness evident in his frame, and was further astonished that his partner could continue to give so much of himself to others, to his patients, to Cardassia, to him. However, he was slowly beginning to comprehend that his partner was able to give so much of himself because he saw how it helped others to keep going, to build up a reserve to draw on, and, in his wonderfully Julian-like way, trusted that when he had need of such support himself, he would be given it in return. Garak hoped that when this moment came, he would be able to answer fully and properly.

“What do you want me to control and dictate in your life, Elim?”

He felt a sudden heat at his neck ridges and face and he could imagine the blue tint that was betraying him. When he didn't respond, Julian began to make suggestions, assessing that it would be easier for his partner to affirm something he said rather than having to express it out loud himself. It also seemed to nudge them into their respective roles, Julian leading, Garak following, and they both felt it, and noticed how they reacted. 

“I would dictate what and when you eat. You would have to keep yourself groomed and presented to a certain standard for me, subject to inspection. I would choose what you wear. I control your access to the bathroom. I expect you to ask my permission for anything you are uncertain about. I will not abuse any of these powers I exercise over you. Remember, any time you are uncomfortable, you can use your safe word. My aim is not to humiliate you – I only want you to feel that I control you because I think a part of you wants that a great deal, love. In any of these scenarios, if you request permission from for me for something, I won't deny it completely, do not worry about that, but I will delay it slightly, for just a few minutes before granting it to you, perhaps making you do something small and brief before I let you do what it is you requested from me. It is just the act of having you ask permission that is key I think, not anything more extreme than that. When you do ask me permission and obey me, and carry out the acts I ask, you will be praised and rewarded. These are just starting points, and of course, we need to see how you feel about them when we actually implement them. It will be an ongoing process and negotiation.”

Garak swallowed, experiencing a certain trembling in his fingers, not of apprehension, but rather from nervous energy gathering in him, coiling, wanting to release, which had built up as the Doctor had spoken. 

“What do you think, Elim?” Julian's brow was furrowed, worried at the lack of verbal response from his partner, and he tugged at his hair. Garak sought to gather himself and allay his concerns.

“I apologise, Doctor, I found myself – falling somewhat, as you spoke. I have no objections to what you suggest.”

“You know I need you to say more than that you have no objections.”

“I want it very much, Julian.” He tilted his head, allowing himself to avoid his partner's gaze. They were both aware that these discussions were a struggle for him, and so Julian only ever pushed him gently, as much as was necessary to establish what was desired and what was unacceptable by his partner.

“I have one question.” Garak managed to enunciate. “How long does this go on for?” 

“As long as you want.”

“But is it to be implemented, and then it is just how my daily life is lived?”

“Again, for as long as you want. However, I suggest that we suspend the rules for when both of us are at work, acting in our professional roles. But we can do this continuously whilst we are at home, if that is appealing to you. Again, we have to experiment and see what you like.”

“I must admit, Julian, to a desire to experience this continuously, while we are home together.” He did not know how to further elaborate on this, to say how this was precisely what he had need of as harder, not rougher, more intense. Julian had read this need in him, had seen that his desperation the previous evening had a basis, and he had found another way to fulfil it without impacting negatively on him. 

Julian briefly rested his chin on his hand, smiling at his partner. “I also have to admit Elim, that hearing you talk like this, and knowing you talk to no one else in this manner, it is very intoxicating.” There was a more playful look to his eyes now. 

“Hm. Quite.” 

This only caused his partner's grin to widen. 

“Take today and tonight to think this over. If you still feel like you want to try this, then we can see about that.” Julian rose. “However, now I must make my way to the hospital.”

“Doctor.” Garak rose as well. “Would you care for me to accompany you on your way to the hospital? It is not too great a deviation for me.” 

They made their way through the main streets and Garak was very alert to the constant discreet looks the other Cardassians flicked their way. Julian appeared unbothered by it, talking to his partner with ease. 

“The first time I met you, Doctor, made sentimental by my exile, I was gripped by the wish to one day show you around my home planet, walk these streets in the city with you.” He sighed.

Julian turned his head towards him. “I know this might not be exactly what you imagined but really, isn't it most of what you wanted? You have returned, I am here, and we are walking together.” 

“Doctor, your Cardassi is coming on in leaps and bounds. You are swapping parts of your sentences around with great ease and flexibility.” 

Since they had arrived on Cardassia, Julian had endeavoured to keep his universal translator off most of the time, usually only relenting when overcome by tiredness or when in a particularly intimate moment with his partner. Garak had experienced great apprehension at the impact of this constant exposure to and communication through another language, the ghostly images of his partner's lifeless eyes stealing over him, impossible to shake off. However, in spite of moments of stress and frustration with himself, Julian had managed quite well due to the very fact that he did not expect perfection from himself, and he had learned it did not matter if he failed to find the precise word, if his communication was only functional rather than elegant and wide-ranging; that would come later. 

“You can thank my colleagues for that. Funny, I imagined your fellow Cardassians would have been far more critical about my lack of style in their language but it has rather been the opposite – they understand that I am currently using the language to carry out medical procedures first and foremost and that everything else will just have to come when it does. Really though, I think they enjoy seeing a representative from Star Fleet, from Earth, making a fool of himself when talking – they get great fun out of it, and I do not begrudge them it.” 

Garak said nothing for he could not disagree with his partner. He had noted the increase of comments, critical comments, in relation to what Julian perceived as Star Fleet's mishandling of Cardassia, their failure to fulfil the values and mandate they swore to uphold. It hurt Garak somehow to witness this note of cynicism entering into his partner's manner. The hospital came into sight in front of them – one wing of the building was destroyed and little could be done now to fix it. Seeing this, Garak could understand how even the young Doctor was becoming more cynical. 

“Do you know what the real issue is, Garak?” Julian had come to a stop near the hospital's entrance. “Star Fleet have no idea what they are dealing with because they don't understand what is being said to them by the Cardassians. Your people are proud by nature, and secretive, and they always had suspicions of outsiders – they can hide so much so easily when talking to these officers, particularly with the cover of the universal translator. Yes, I can't speak fluently or prettily but because my colleagues notice that I pick up on a certain word choice or inflection or verb conjugation, hinting at what they actually think or how the real situation stands – my study of enigma tales has served me well – when they recognise that I hear this, they slowly begin to divulge more of the real situation, what they don't tell Star Fleet, what they think of them, how their actions and words are perceived.” Julian sighed. “And it isn't good, and they are justified in this.” 

“Julian, I was aware the situation was bad but is it really as bad as this?” 

“Let us just say, Garak, that Star Fleet have a different priority here than what it should be.” 

Garak jerked; Julian saw that he had understood, and they did not need to say it out loud: Section 31. They parted, and Garak turned in the other direction, armed now with new information he needed to discreetly enquire about.

-

Garak awoke the next morning, roused from his sleep by his partner moving around their bedroom. When Julian saw that he was awake, he approached the bed, sitting down close to him.

“Good morning, Doctor.” Garak began to sit up and met Julian's eyes.

“How would you like to begin this day, Elim?” 

Garak understood what he was referring to and he took a moment before replying quietly. “I have been considering what we talked about yesterday and it still appeals to me. If you would be amenable to it, I would be interested in trying this today.” 

Julian reached out his hand and stroked his cheek before he stood up. “Then before we begin, you are going to kneel for me, to remind you of what your position is.”

Garak experienced a frisson of excitement drip through him. He complied with the Doctor's order, assuming his position at his feet, looking up at him. They gazed at one another, searching, checking, understanding. The sensation of falling into another frame of mind, a sensation which was becoming familiar to him and seemed to be accessed more and more easily by him the more they engaged in this play, began to come over him, softening the edges of the world somehow. His mind, which had been overfilled with the worries and crises of the past months, the work that was never done, his duties, began to fade and he embraced this quiet emptiness. It was a wonderful respite, as refreshing as sleep.  
He did not know how much time had passed, but he was brought back to himself somewhat by the Doctor's hand under his chin. 

“Oh, Elim, you are so good for him, look at how quiet you are, so obedient for me, you're behaving exactly the way you should be, this role suits you so very well.” 

Garak wanted to lean into the touch but he did not move, waiting for the Doctor's orders. 

“Now, you are to prepare yourself for the day. You will clean yourself and present yourself to be inspected by me. I will have your clothes for the day ready and then we can breakfast together.” 

A flicker of concern, of the desire to question arose in him. To allow someone else to choose what he chose to attire himself with? To allow the Doctor to do so? A queasier sense of helplessness started in his stomach, however he did not want to break this off or question the Doctor just yet. He rose to his feet and made his way to their bathroom, focusing on attending to his ablutions, finding that the act steadied him, and that he focused on what he imagined the Doctor would be looking for, taking even more care than he would typically. 

He emerged and found the Doctor waiting for him, who looked him over, and Garak once more felt a sweep of helplessness going through him, more ambivalent this time. This desire of his to please had lead him to such acts of humiliation and prostration, nothing he had done had been received with praise or gratitude, but with the Doctor his acts were rewarded, and the more intimate and vulnerable the acts, the more he was met with praise.  
The Doctor smiled, satisfied and stood off to the side as Garak considered the clothes laid out for him today. He ran his fingertips over the material – it was an ensemble he had not worn since they had arrived on Cardassia. It was not overly detailed or bright, however, it was a set he had made himself back when he had access to wonderful materials; the cut was beautifully done, if he did say so himself, the colours fine, deep and rich. It was a fine piece of work, luxurious almost, and such items he possessed had become almost obscene to him in this climate – how could he dare to adorn himself with such clothing, denoting his position and power, when so many of his people were reduced to worse than those they had once occupied? He held back for a moment, and out of the corner of his eye noted the Doctor's shifting of position and he understood if he did not begin to dress soon, he would be pulled up on this. He set his shoulders and began to put on these now unfamiliar clothes with some hesitancy.  
He turned and met his reflection first in the Doctor's expression before turning to meet it in the mirror on the wall, and he slowly understood what his partner was doing. Yes, their world lay in rubble around them and they had to rebuild, but they were to remember what they should be proud of, they were to act as if until reality began to catch up. He already felt different attired in one of his more finely made sets, and he tilted his head sideways, and scarcely wishing it, found himself thanking the Doctor for this. 

“Now, Elim, for breakfast today, you are to forego food, I want you to fast until you return home for the evening.” 

Garak had not expected this but he acquiesced, and accepted the tea which the Doctor pressed into his hands.  
They went their separate ways then, and Garak found himself experiencing an odd state, where on one level he was his public self, whilst inwardly, on a lower and quieter level, his submissive role continued on. This multiplying of selves and roles could have reminded him of his previous lives, however, in those lives, his multiple selves had been unnatural and divided from one another, compartmentalised. Now these differing levels were very natural to him, he had to admit this submissive role came oh so naturally, and they were synthesised, together, not forced apart. To an outsider, it would perhaps appear an utter contradiction but to Garak it made far more sense than many things in his life had. This sense of harmony and quietness helped him through the day, eased his overwhelmed mind; his attire changed how he held himself and interacted with others and how they responded to him. It had been a long time since he had consciously fasted and this too added to a sharpening of his senses and his thoughts. The Doctor had known all this, had known precisely what to give him. In being submissive to him in this manner, he was granting the Doctor permission to care for him, to help him not just to enjoy a side of his sexuality he had never dared dream of exploring, but to re-enter a more realised version of himself.  
He walked through the streets on his return home, keeping to the ritual of his walk; he noted the looks the other Cardassians gave him, and he hoped he saw some flicker of remembrance, of a desire to re-attain this state, a reawakening. 

Garak had arrived back before the Doctor, and even though he was absent, he found himself sinking very easily back into that quiet, whited out state, and he did little, knowing he needed to ask the Doctor's permission.  
The Doctor returned, and greeted his partner with a kiss once he had assessed he had complied with his instructions for the day. Whilst the Doctor refreshed himself and changed out of his work clothes, Garak initially made to enter the bathroom, but remembered he could not, now that he was home, without the Doctor's permission. He hesitated a moment; it was not urgent, certainly, however, he battled with himself, with having to ask permission for such an basic personal need. He remembered then how he had had to assist his partner during his disassociated state with such needs. He managed to approach the Doctor and to make this request, the act of doing so sending another surge of helplessness and deep vulnerability through him, leaving him wanting to sink to his knees, to do something for his partner, or to be further taken in hand, to heighten this sense, to be tied up, restrained somehow. Though he had not experienced this role as sexual in the morning, and most certainly not at work, he now felt himself shifting once more between states, and he saw how this role could be implemented as a long, drawn-out foreplay for intercourse, for a scene between them. This was what Julian always gave him somehow, he always seemed to widen his world for him, give him more possibilities. And they were still only at the beginning of what they could do together, in every sense of this. 

The Doctor reached out to stroke his cheek. Garak this time leaned into it, enjoying the sensation, enjoying the Doctor's taller frame over him. “You did so well to ask, Elim, I know that was not easy. However, I need you to wait for fifteen to twenty minutes. While you're waiting, you can do some light piece of work, write a message you need to or skim some document for tomorrow, revise something. Then you return here to me and ask me again.” The Doctor went into the kitchen, to see about what they would find to eat for their evening meal, and for Garak, the first meal of the day today. 

He settled himself for the requisite twenty minutes, pulling a padd towards him and beginning to tap, not feeling discomfort but very aware of what he was waiting for permission to do. Something this small, this basic, this controlling, should not have felt as thrilling as it did, but he had decided he needed to revise his understanding of what was allowed and what was not in his personal experience of the world.  
When the task was completed and the time was up, he returned to his partner, and more easily requested permission this time from him, and it was granted to him. These acts all built up over the course of the day to heighten his senses, leaving his scales sensitive, tingling, overly responsive. Even the act of relieving himself was tinged with a sensuousness previously unknown to him, keenly aware that he had obeyed his Doctor, and handing over his control was not being abused, only played with, tested, to a pleasurable degree.  
He returned to the kitchen, and took his place at the table, waiting for the Doctor to tell him to eat. This did not come. Instead, the Doctor moved closer to him, and taking the bowl of food, put a spoonful of it into his own mouth, chewing, before pulling Garak's head towards him, and feeding him from his own mouth. The intimacy and dominance of this act shocked Garak right to his core, and he nearly jerked away; he swallowed, and watched as the Doctor's eyes held his, seeing how he was doing, and he inexplicably found himself wishing for Julian to continue, to care for him in this manner, and he breathed out shakily, dropping his shoulders, releasing the tension there, and the Doctor, witnessing this, chewed another mouthful for his partner, before pressing it into his mouth for him to swallow. He began to experience such a degree of sensuousness in the act that he was not sure whether he would weep or would beg the Doctor to grant him permission to touch himself, and he once again saw that this all fed into one another, overlapping acts, creating an upward spiral, almost tantric in its effect. 

When they had finished and moved into the living room, taking up position on the sofa, Garak gave into this desire. 

“Doctor, please, I beg you, I need you to let me touch myself, to touch you.”

“Are you desperate for that, Elim, to touch, to be touched?” 

He nodded. “Desperate, Doctor, I cannot think of anything else, I need this.”

“You beg beautifully, Elim. Beg me on your knees.” His voice was soft, his own arousal evident in it. 

Garak sank to the floor, repeating these words. 

“I will give you what you want. But first, you have to do something for me.”

“Oh Doctor, please.” He caught the needy tone in his voice and did not care, for it was clearly having a powerful effect on his partner. 

“I want you to suck my cock, Elim, and you are to do this whilst your hands are bound in front of you. Then I will give you what you so desperately need because only I can do that for you. Repeat it, Elim.”

“You are the only one who can give me what I need, yes, Doctor.”

And Julian bound his hands, tightly, and Garak took his partner's cock into his mouth, kneeling in front of him as he sat on the sofa, the Doctor tangling his fingers in his hair, guiding his head since he did not have the use of his hands, and all the while Garak felt as he grew uncontrollably wetter. 

After the first day of this role, Garak informed Julian how very much he wanted to continue it. He continued to live this way, finding his duties easier to deal with, his other concerns and guilt somehow balanced out by how he focused on the slow, arduous process of rebuilding his planet. The war trials loomed inevitably, and Garak would be called as a witness. He sank so fully into his role that he would experience the drop into this other submissive mindset as soon as Julian used a certain tone with him. Indeed, he began to fall so heavily that he would forget not to ask his partner for permission, but rather he became so passive and docile that he would forget that he had needs to ask his Doctor about. Julian had initially been concerned by this, when he had realised hours had passed and Garak had not asked him permission for sustenance or relief. Then he had seen and understood that this state was blissful for Elim, to experience at a distance the sense that he or his body might require something but he had fallen too deep to even be able to ask permission for it, he needed the Doctor to check in and ask him, control and care intertwining completely. And one evening, as he welcomed the Doctor's blows against his scales, driving him into the place where there were no words, he could only hope that this period would last at least a while in their lives together.


	16. Chapter 16

Nostalgia was fatal, Garak had understood this all his life, and yet, he would still fall prey to it on occasion, and berate himself for doing so, recognising his weakness. Often he wondered how much he was really in a particular moment – he came from a society who valued their past and who focused on their future, and this seemed to neglect the present. Perhaps this was why he had found such release in the scenes he enacted with the Doctor, for during these occasions he was not only freed from language but also from a sense of time. However, the second he recognised the power of these shared moments was when he would then wish to hold onto them, not only to experience the illusion of being liberated from time but to actually stop time, to grip his hands around it and not let it wriggle from his grasp, like a child who does not wish to relinquish their hold on a beloved pet. He had not yet mastered the art of being able to move with the waves and eddies of passing time, but he was at least able to be conscious of his resistance to this. It was with a shock one day that he realised he had begun to have wistful thoughts about the early days of his friendship with Julian, and then the early days of their partnership; it seemed such a great betrayal to their life together now to yearn to taste this time again when he knew their relationship could never recapture those moments. And indeed, the notion of halting time so they could live out an unending now had some indulgent appeal but the reality of this would be appalling; it would mean never going any further, never seeing how their relationship would change and deepen, he would never get any further with the mystery of his partner, a challenge he was happy to dedicate the rest of his life to.   
There was a subtle difference, Garak knew, between nostalgia and simply enjoying memories, particularly shared memories. Retelling fond anecdotes to Julian from their life together was a reaffirmation, a comforting act, their shared laughter speaking of privacy and intimacy, an examination of the mythology emerging organically from their life together. Nostalgia did not have this positive connotation to Garak, it was not a reinforcement, it was a desire to escape, to close one's eyes and not have to perceive what was there. He had spent long enough trying to escape his surroundings by using the dulling aid of the implant, and he had no desire to remove himself, even mentally, from his present with Julian, as difficult as the other aspects of their life might currently be. When he wavered, teetering on the brink of sinking into such reveries, he instead sought to reformulate it, and to think of these memories as what he would hope to have again in the future with his partner and the altered quality it would have by the dint of time having passed, their relationship stronger yet mellower, no longer the heady rush of wine inhaled in fast draughts, seeking the effect of the drink instead of the taste, rather their time together would have the character of an older wine, wiser, quieter, something which required pause and stillness to appreciate.

It was a terrible irony then to Garak that though he struggled with the trap of nostalgia - to resist the act of lying down in the field of poppies and closing his eyes – that his past, and that of his planet, came back to haunt his present. Be careful what you wish for, he thought darkly to himself as he sat in the Cardassian court, so altered from how it once was, no trace of the show trials which had defined their justice system previously. The war trials were also open to the public, to anyone who wished to observe or bear witness. This of course had led to some interesting moments where members of the public had to be removed by security, screaming about lies and propaganda and the bias of the court.   
Garak had not yet been called upon to give testimony, that would come later. Yet, he came to the court every day, wearing fine attire, taking up a prominent position. He wanted everyone to note that he was there, he was there every day, the son of Enabrain Tain, the former Obsidian Order operative, the former exile, the traitor, the patriot, whatever his fellow Cardassians wanted to take him for; all he wished for was to demonstrate how he bore witness, and he hoped to give a signal to others to do the same. He imagined Damar would have approved of this; he often thought of Damar these days and missed him; something closely related to nostalgia that he also had to watch out for, the terrible, terrible thought of what might have been, if only. 

Garak listened; he listened as Bajorans told of horrific experiences, of an entire family nearly decimated, 45 members murdered on the same day for being related to an important figure in the Bajoran resistance; he listened as Cardassians brought long kept secrets to light as to how they had been treated by their compatriots, tortured on flimsy pretexts, the methods crude and disgusting to Garak; he listened as young Cardassians told of the terror perpetrated by the Dominion occupation, the damaging aftereffects of the war they had been made to fight. 

One day, as he took his seat in his customary place, he surveyed the room, noting the journalists preparing for the day ahead, muttering to each other, young Jake Sisko among them, he noted the court officials beginning to trickle in, setting up, and the public seats began to fill up, which was when he recognised the face of Dr. Kelas Parmak. It was grotesque, to have the testimony of victims of the Cardassian regime and the Obsidian Order in his ear as he looked at the Cardassian he had interrogated back in the prime of his power. He remembered the cramped space where the interrogation had taken place, and the proportions of the court began to shift and move; oh, how he hated those breathing exercises the Doctor had him practice but they did work, and so he quietly began to focus on them, bringing the room back into focus, the walls retreating to where they should be.   
He was certain Parmak had seen him at that moment and he wondered if this was the first time he had been present at court. Garak could not allow himself to imagine he could have somehow overlooked him all this time. Inwardly struggling, he returned his attention to the witness currently speaking, not wanting to deny their experience by allowing himself to dwell on this event from his past, what he felt at the sight of Parmak's face again, what would happen next.   
When court adjourned for the day, everyone began to shuffle and trickle out the exits, and amidst that sea of bodies, Garak lost sight of Parmak, and he found himself outside, alone, and so he continued to walk at a measured, stately pace, setting out on his evening walk. He had not quite sought to avoid meeting Dr. Parmak, yet he could not pretend he was relieved to have put off this encounter at least for today. They would meet, it was unavoidable, and he did not know what would happen when they did.

When he returned home, he was greeted by the welcome sight of Julian, a rare occasion when the Doctor had been able to finish at a more reasonable hour. When he kissed his partner in greeting, he allowed his fingers to trail down his face, before caressing his neck; this was more typically a gesture Julian would bestow on him but Garak had recently experienced the need to demonstrate his affection for his partner more clearly. For some time now, Elim had the uneasy suspicion that his Doctor was planning something, and was preparing himself to tell him about it. There were no indications within their relationship that there were any issues he could plausibly point to and explain why he believed Julian was going to leave him. Yet, he was convinced of this still, and so, if Julian was not preparing to leave him because he wanted to end their relationship, it meant his idealism was still intact after all this time and he was going to leave him for a cause. He did not know how to win against this, and he understood that he could not, and indeed, he would not prevent his partner from doing so, as heavy as his heart was at the thought of it. During the war, even before that, when Julian had shot him, he had long understood that though they loved each other, they would both be willing to sacrifice that love if it was deemed necessary. It did not indicate that their love was conditional, or that they believed it to be somehow lesser or smaller than other abstract notions, but rather that they understood their relationship did not get to exist in protected isolation and it was subject to the influence and demands of all the other multiple facets and demands of their lives and selves.   
Still, though Garak accepted this, it did not mean he found it easy to accept it; however, it would not truly be Julian otherwise, nor he truly himself. 

“Shall we sit out in the garden this evening?”

The weather was milder this time of year, and their surroundings were slowly becoming more bearable to look upon and so Garak agreed. It was not quite the right name for what they had though, a garden. That was what he hoped one day he would transform it into; at this time, the land lay there, neglected, empty, unworked, and Garak would consider it at the end of each day, promising himself that he would have time to work it, develop it, transform it but the time never seemed to be there. Julian seemed not to mind; he found sitting outside in such very stripped back surroundings oddly pleasing, explaining to Elim that he felt he was seeing a Cardassia few did, and that even fewer could appreciate if they did. Garak understood what he meant by this and once more marvelled at how unexpectedly Julian had fit into this world. 

They seated themselves at the small table; Julian propped up one of his elbows on it, and rested his cheek against his balled fist, surveying his surroundings, a soft, almost dreamy aspect to his expression. He roused himself from his contemplation and focused on his partner.

“Elim, did you ever wonder why I spent so much time on those Holosuite programmes when we were on the station?”

Garak paused, catching his breath; so it was what he had suspected ever since Julian had mentioned the name of that part of Star Fleet who were not officially supposed to exist, since Julian's criticisms of the Federation had become more clear, unapologetic in how he viewed their hypocrisy and betrayal of the values they were supposed to uphold and that he himself worked to uphold. 

“Well, you certainly were very dedicated to them though that wasn't necessarily reflected in their quality or accuracy.” 

A fond grin tugged at his partner's lips, suddenly causing him to look much younger. 

“It must have seemed terribly kitschy and childish to you, my dear Mr. Garak.” 

Garak only made a light “hm” noise in response to this which elicited the same boyish smile from Julian.   
“Oh, I know full well how I appeared to everyone, I didn't lack self-awareness to quite that degree, hard as that might have been to believe of my younger self. You know I ordered those programmes myself? I had them custom made?”

“We all knew that.”

“Yes, so what does that tell you about who I was?”

Garak had been about to make some arch remark about having only read spy stories and never having lived the pressures of such a life, when he realised Julian was not referring to the setting. He was referring to something else. He wouldn't ask him such a question unless it was to lead him to a point he wanted to uncover for Elim which he had perhaps not previously recognised. It was also a rhetorical trick he had used consistently with Julian over the years and he was amused and flattered that he was now using it on him. He cast his mind back: what had struck him about the sophomoric holosuite programmes which had emerged from the mind of his young partner? Well, Garak had certainly had a negative reaction to the characters Julian had created, although a great part of this had been due to a base jealousy and subsequent insecurity at seeing the beautiful female figures he had invented. This had prevented him from ever really considering their function in the story. 

“The other characters. You made them.”

Julian nodded and Garak assessed from the Doctor's position and attitude that it would be alright to say what he had been struck by, that indeed, Julian wanted him to say this, to reach this conclusion.

“Those characters were what you were capable of creating at that point in your life. That was how far your ability to understand others was.”

“Many on the station, or indeed when I was a student, during the first year or so, really did underestimate how clearly I could see that I didn't know how to communicate with them in an accepted manner. I could see it, painfully so, but it doesn't translate that I was able to do something about it. At least not immediately.”

“Accepted by who, though Julian?” Garak knew a lot of this was in the past, yet he could not help but experience a flame of indignation at the remembered struggles his partner had faced. 

“As much as I know what my parents did to me was wrong, I do also have to acknowledge they gave me opportunities Jules would not otherwise have had.” He said this with no bitterness and Garak could only wish one day he would be able to speak of his upbringing in such a tone. “Perhaps I shouldn't feel like that, but I don't know how well able Jules would have been for the life I have ended up living.” A more troubled expression settled on his face. “I sometimes think of how Jules died, that's how I understand it, but then I tell myself Jules died so Julian would be able to study, to practice medicine, to help and save others. And so if I don't pursue that, then Jules' death is meaningless, his existence becomes as meaningless as my parents thought it was.” 

Garak reached across the table and Julian's hand came to meet him, and they held onto one another, their grip tight. He could not agree with what Julian said, not in its entirety, but it was not about how he felt in relation to this; if this was how Julian had learned to make peace with what had been done to him, then Garak had to accept it, in spite of the rage he still harboured against the Bashirs, the heaviness which weighed on him at what Jules had suffered. 

Julian released his hand. “Well. That was my intention behind the Holosuite programmes. I could practice interactions as many times as I needed to, and the repetition helped me to internalise those dialogues and exchanges. You can't really do that with real people.” 

If only he could have known this, but he had not at the beginning of their friendship. His perceptions were blurred by the effects of the implant and his inherent suspicion had been completely at war with his desire for this man, a desire which had initially been purely physical. The image came to his mind of a younger Julian completing a programme, setting it up to start again, repeating it, stumbling through the interactions, doing this alone, again and again. His throat felt tight but he was also fiercely proud of his stubborn partner. 

“So I made good progress that way but it wasn't really until I met you that I properly began to understand the subtleties of communication.”

Garak said nothing, but tilted his head downwards slightly, to be interpreted as an acknowledgement, but it also served as a way for him to cover his shock at this.

“Oh Elim, are you trying to tell me you didn't notice how I copied you? I learned so much about how to navigate conversations and the unsaid parts of interactions, the multiple meanings, just by observing you.”

Garak had indeed been unable to ignore how Julian had copied him but at the time he had ascribed it to a crush of some kind, and not the kind he had been nursing a weak hope would be reciprocated, and so these moments when he recognised the Doctor's imitations had served to irritate more than charm. But this cast it in a different light. However, these observations of Julian only further served to confirm his suspicions – Julian was telling him, indirectly, that yes, he had once played at being a spy, and that previously he would have been incapable of understanding communication and interaction to the requisite degree to be equal to the demands of intelligence work. He had also based his understanding of communication on the patterns and systems of a former Obsidian operative. The horrible irony of finally believing himself to be free of the Order, and that he would be instrumental in building up a form of Cardassian democracy, only to realise his partner was going to voluntarily go to Section 31, and not just that, but was going to attempt to take them on. Garak wanted to push away the pain and fear uncoiling in him but after a terrible moment, allowed it to move through him. 

“However, it wasn't until I began learning Cardassi that I really, really began to be able to communicate more easily. I know it might not have seemed that way on the outside, but that was also part of what I was trying to do, not to allow others to see that it didn't come naturally to me. But it was exhausting sometimes, the constant scripts, reminding myself what to do and say. Honestly, it was a relief to be able to fall back on what I copied from you.”

“But it became easier, with practice, with study.” 

“It did, and it became easier specifically with Cardassi. I can't explain the – well, the liberation, in one paradoxical sense; having to so strictly adhere to such patterns and structures made me feel as if there was a safety net. But more than that, it was a liberation from Federation Standard.” 

Garak remained silent, waiting for Julian to elaborate. He recalled Julian's struggles, his initial rejection of the thought of learning another language, the disastrous first attempt culminating in his disassociated state. It was quite wonderful to Garak that something so positive could come from a period that had been fraught and painful. Julian's brown eyes regarded his partner with a clear fondness. Evening was beginning to creep in, the temperature cooling, only a gentle touch of dust lightly swirling at their feet, the residual heat from the day still hanging in the air. 

“What do you mean by a 'liberation'?” Garak found Julian's sentiment caused him to recall the scenes he played with the Doctor, where language became unnecessary, and the freeing sensation which came with this. How could one language be more liberating than another for his partner when it was spoken language and interaction which had always been a challenge for him?

“Well, initially because it was a clean slate. I had no bad associations with it. There are certain words in Federation Standard that even now, at a remove of thirty years or more, that when I hear them, I am instantly transported back to my childhood, when I was Jules. The words were yelled or screamed, directed at me, or hissed at me, or accompanied by mocking laughter.” Julian's eyes had darkened, and his gaze was no longer focused on his partner but on some unfixed point, and Garak wished he could pull Julian back from where it was he drifting. “I could barely speak by the time I was six. Or Jules couldn't. Or I couldn't. I am not sure how that works or how to even understand that. I didn't know what the sounds meant and I didn't know how to link them up with what the were supposed to represent. I could feel the rage of the noise though and the noise was overwhelming. Even though I didn't understand the words, I can remember the sounds so clearly that now, as a grown man, I can still recognise which words they were. And Cardassi has nothing like this for me. I was able to start anew with Cardassi.” He turned his head slowly, his eyes refocusing on his partner, and Garak felt as if Julian was returning from somewhere far away. 

“I am so glad, Julian, that Cardassi could give you this new start.” Garak involuntarily thought of the Cardassi words he would never be able to hear again without being reminded of his code-breaking during the Dominion War, the Cardassians who had died as a result of how he had read and understood these words. 

“But it is more than that. That is just an absence of something negative, something that shouldn't have been there in the first place. I don't want that to be the only reason I have for finding something in Cardassi which I didn't have before. When I think about Cardassi, I think of you, of learning it with you, the long evenings we spent together, and the way you let me approach learning it in my own way. When I speak Cardassi or read it, I feel such a warmth, knowing that you thought me worthy of such time and understanding, that you helped to make the language comprehensible to me.”

“Really, Julian, this is too much.” 

Julian reached out and entwined his fingers with his partner's. “I needed to at least once make you understand what you gave me.”

“Oh, my dear, I don't know if I could possibly make you understand what you have given me.”

They lapsed into silence. Garak hated to break it, but the evening was getting colder now, he wanted to go inside soon, and he wanted to get this painful moment over with. 

“Julian, I know there is something on your mind, and indeed, that there has been for some time now. I believe I know what it is.”

Julian curled his lips into the approximation of a smile but it sank again instantly. “Why do you think I chose to sit outside?”

Ah. So that no potential bugs could be listening in. It confirmed everything Garak had feared. 

“I know that you understand.”

“I do.” 

“But it doesn't make it any easier.” Julian supplied what he knew Garak had left unsaid. “Oh love, I wish I didn't feel compelled to do this.”

Garak rubbed his fingers over Julian's, and he wondered how long it would take, how much time remained to them. Or rather, how much certain time remained to them. How long would it take for Julian to make contact, for them to approach him after this, to set it into motion; how long would he be away, would he be able to remain on Cardassia? How long would it take for Julian to be done with them, would he ever be done with them? Garak could not fail to notice that returning to Cardassia had become part of Julian's motivation to undertake this, to work for Section 31 in order to bring them down from the inside. If he had not witnessed their insidious role here, then he would not have been compelled to this decision. 

“Julian, I have never been one to ask for promises, as I am fully aware how meaningless such words are in the face of an indifferent universe, but this one time, please, I am going to ask you to promise me something.”

“I will try my best, love.”

“Please come back to me.” They had come back to one another before, having both survived the war. They had to be able to do so once again, he had to believe it could happen once again. 

“Oh, I will, Elim, once my work is done, I will return to you, always.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Really, Elim, your mind is not on the game at all this evening.” Kelas's words were spoken softly, intended in jest. “I am slowly becoming somewhat indignant that you will not subject me to the full force of your ability.”

Garak sighed, and sought to refocus on the game at hand. His body was tired and heavy, his mind too, and he felt his age very keenly tonight.

“I can only apologise for my inattention, Kelas.” He considered the next play, attempting to make a half-decent contribution. “Being Castellan does rather take up a great deal of one's time and energy, leaving little to expend on other more pleasant activities.”

The other Cardassian regarded him with clear scepticism but continued on. Parmak was a fine companion, and Garak had initially been surprised at how similar their tastes were, and how easy it was to pass time together.

He had actively sought out Doctor Parmak the day after Julian had departed for Earth, on the first of many such sojourns, which had initially been short enough but then had increased in length and occurrence until they had reached the current situation, where he was gone for months on end now, no definite conclusion in sight, the conclusion resting only on Julian's ability to finish the herculean task he had set himself.

His encounter with Parmak had not been what he wished it to be. Indeed, it had been fraught and testy but not in the manner he had perversely hoped for.

_Garak followed the stately and elegant Cardassian as he made his way back to the quieter part of the city, leaving the court behind him, his cane marking the slightly unsteady gait of his walk. He had caught up to him and that was when Parmak paused and turned to acknowledge him._

_“I had wondered whether you would attempt to seek me out first.”_

_Garak then understood that he had not considered whether the other Cardassian had wanted to arrange their first encounter on his own terms and that his impulsive move to approach him like this had been thoughtless in that regard; perhaps Parmak had had a plan and now his own actions had upset this, had once more changed the balance of power, the terms on which they met. For once, Garak found himself at a loss as to how to respond. Or he was simply at a loss, without Julian, without any certainty for the future, and so he had reached for something from his past, not quite knowing why. In that moment, he decided the only way he could improve the situation was to allow Parmak to witness how uncertain he was, how he did not know how to reply or proceed, to help shift the power once more._

_They began to walk together, Garak adjusting his pace to match Parmak's. The streets became quieter, and eventually Parmak came to a halt at a small public garden. There was something admirable, something so very Cardassian in the decision to focus on creating such an aesthetically pleasing space amidst a half-rebuilt city. They seated themselves, and Garak's eye could not help but be drawn by the way the plants and hedges had been cultivated, how the stones were gathered and arranged._

_“It is always fascinating to me how living things can emerge from dusty soil, or even from lands covered by stones.” Parmak must have followed Garak's gaze, and somehow extrapolated where his interest was focused._

_“And the opposite, it also fascinates me as to how some plants could not survive but for our mercy and attention, creating special greenhouses to keep them secluded and safe in.” Garak responded._

_“An interesting perspective.” Parmak paused before resuming. “What do you think the purpose of these war trials are?”_

_“In what context? There are several.”_

_“I do believe that is the only accurate answer which at least approaches the truth of the situation.”_

_Garak had considered the question himself as he had sat, watching the daily proceedings of the courts. Were the trials for the victims of the state's violence? Were they for the future of Cardassia? Or were they about the past and who controlled it and represented it? Were they about politics, about power? Were they about forgiveness?_

_“Imagine this, Garak.” Parmak said lightly. “A war criminal is prosecuted during these trials and is rightly sentenced to be incarcerated for his heinous actions. They are guilty, and so the judgement is just. However – what if we are to discover then that the judgement was not passed based on the merit of the case but was passed because the judge has been advised to do so by other actors in the background? What if it is convenient for one Cardassian, who is, I emphasise, guilty, to be convicted, in order to allow others to go free and undetected? Is it still a just punishment? Has the function of the court been fulfilled?”_

_“This is a somewhat cynical sentiment to come from a man of medicine.”_

_“It makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it? You've already had such thoughts about the war trials, about the process of transitional justice. You want for there to be clear right and wrong in this one matter, you want for the court to confirm something you've never allowed yourself to believe in.”_

_“Well, I suppose they do say that there is nothing to match the bitterness of a disappointed idealist.”_

_“Do you wish for me to be angry at you, Elim? For what you did?”_

_Garak remembered the interrogations, he remembered the sounds, the smells; he remembered being deliriously ill and asking for forgiveness from Doctor Bashir, who gave it to him; he remembered Tain, the rare moments of pride he had in his son. Had he been wrong to ask for someone to forgive him in the place of the ones who had the right to withhold forgiveness from him? Was it wrong for him to now remember this moment with some fondness, as it had been one of the very first occasions when he had realised the Doctor cared for him?_

_“I am afraid I will have to disappoint you on that. I do try not to dwell on thoughts of personal revenge and anger, the satisfaction of some base desire to give hurt in return for hurt.” The other Cardassian's profile was fine, sharply delineated, aristocratic almost in its lines, yet it was not a cold face. “You have only been called to be a witness at the trials, yes?”_

_Garak inclined his head, confirming this._

_“You wish this was not the case, do you not?”_

_Garak kept his head lowered, remaining still._

_“You want to be punished. You want to be forgiven. Have you considered Elim, that there is nothing useful to come from punishing you? It would only satisfy your desire for self-flagellation.”_

_Garak experienced a strange doubling, the lines echoing the sentiments his dear Julian had once expressed to him; he had outwardly accepted his partner's words but had never truly believed in them. Yet, to hear similar words emerging from the mouth of a Cardassian he had unjustly interrogated lent them a different weight._

_“I do not forgive you for what you did to me. I do not forgive that act and I never shall. Do you understand precisely what I mean by this?”_

_Garak was bewildered; surely, it was quite clear what Kelas Parmak meant when he said he did not forgive him? Even though he had expected such a reaction, had even wanted it, it still stung him, a reminder, like little hooks catching on his scales, tethering him to his past and what he had been, what he had done._

_“I can tell you have already misunderstood. I do not forgive you for this act, Elim. I do not have to and I do not want to. That does not mean I do not wish to know you or to perhaps even build a friendship between us. But the knowledge will always lie between us, of what you did and that I do not forgive you for it.”_

_They sat in silence for some moments. Garak thought about how he had the capacity to inflect pain and torture on others, honed by a lifelong conditioning; it was in him and he actively had to not choose it each day. Its power was lessening with each time he chose against it, but it remained in him, a ghost. He was not yet sure whether he would be able to look upon Kelas Parmak's face without remembering what he had once done, had once been, but that was his struggle to bear. Parmak had indicated he wished to know him and he would not deny him this due to his own discomfort. Many other Cardassians were in a similar position to Parmak, to himself, of having to rebuild a society with those who had been part of the system which precipitated its downfall, with those who supported the Dominion. It was not ideal but perhaps fewer such ideals would be to the service of Cardassia and her people._

“Elim, I do believe that busy people are only busy because they choose to be.”

“I hardly have a choice as Castellan of Cardassia.” Garak half-exclaimed.

“Perhaps. However, I have known others in positions of power who do less.”

“You want me to delegate the work of Castellan to others? That is not a wise security move, nor a wise move politically.”

“Are you intimating you have surrounded yourself with those you do not trust? I would not call that a wise security move either.”

Garak sighed, allowing a touch of exasperation to be apparent. It was clear that the older Cardassian had a point he wished to make and this was his way of going about it. Garak wondered if he properly dedicated himself to the game before them would Parmak let this alone, but he doubted it.

“So, as I cannot imagine you would surround yourself with those you do not trust, this then tells me you are simply choosing to take on everything yourself. And this means you want to be saddled with all this work.”

“Kelas, if I wished to pass the time I have many interests I could dedicate myself to.”

“Ah, yes. Your garden. Or rather, the garden you still have not started. Literature too, of course. Or rather, I have not seen you finish reading a single work for a long time now.”

“I dislike being made aware of how keenly you are observing me.”

“Elim, did you truly want this position, of Castellan? Did you truly wish to outdo your father in this respect? I cannot accept that you carry around such an active degree of anger towards Tain still.”

Garak rose from his position, abandoning the pretence of paying any attention to the game before them. He stood and faced the window, his back to Parmak. He looked out at the darkness, the night covering the empty land which was one day to become a garden. He could see it so clearly in his mind and was somehow always disappointed when the barren land countered his imaginings.

“I will always be somewhat beholden to the seductive idea of power, Kelas, I have enough self-awareness to recognise this.”

“But to become Castellan?” He heard the other Cardassian shifting in his chair, turning towards him, and yet he steadfastly gazed out at the darkness, attempting to discern any shapes or landmarks and failing.

“Elim, why are you surprised when someone who became a doctor turns out to have ideals they are willing to sacrifice a great deal for?”

“I am not surprised, Kelas.” They did not usually address Julian's absence this directly, not because Kelas did not want to, but because Elim had indicated discreetly he did not wish to call attention to this gap in his life. “I have always been aware of the Doctor's weakness for heroic gestures.”

“You do not mean that in the dismissive way you say it. Otherwise why would you be attempting to emulate him?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you are not attempting to emulate your partner's noble acts then pray tell me, why do you do this to yourself, Elim?”

“Because my dear Kelas, if my mind is not occupied to the point of exhaustion, I worry about what I may do if I allow myself a moment to stop.” He responded quietly.

Their friendship had developed quickly; there were not many others on this planet whom Garak trusted, or even wished to spend time with. Life post-Dominion war had made everything more harsh, more stripped back – he and Parmak were thrown together constantly, both pursuing, albeit in differing ways, to rebuild Cardassia and to help heal some of her people's wounds. In Julian's absence, Garak found he could converse with the other Cardassian, and he became a regular visitor in his home, and as time wore on, he became a valued companion. Garak did not like to reflect on the strange unevenness in their friendship, the knowledge between them of his previous role as interrogator. But it was not even this aspect which was now the greatest indication of the inequality in their relationship – Garak would never admit it aloud - but with Kelas, he did not need to – that his need for Kelas' companionship was currently far stronger than Kelas' need for him. Certainly, Kelas enjoyed their friendship, and took great pleasure in the time they spent together, but Garak knew he was holding on desperately to the older Doctor's serene presence. In the absence of Julian's energy, mental, physical, and indeed, sexual, his constant words and exclamations, his countless touches and embraces, in the absence of this kaleidoscopic sun, Garak needed to anchor himself to a quiet moon, waiting for the night to end, and to return the day to him.

It was not that Garak did not appreciate or welcome quietness, but after Julian, anything was too quiet, and he found the silence of their home the hardest part to live with, nearly as difficult as the absence of him from his bed, or the absence of his head in his lap as they read, seated on the couch in the evenings. He had sought distraction in sensible avenues initially, and had given himself a stern talking to – he had survived far, far worse than this, surely? He had been in exile from his home planet for years, the sole Cardassian on a space station for so long, he had been imprisoned for six months. And yet, he could not. He would set to work on what was to become their garden but he would barely make it past one or two ineffectual scrapings at the ground before he would feel how pointless the endeavour was, and would abandon it. He would seek to read the latest Cardassian novels or collections of essays, and he would make it to about midway of page three before the meaninglessness of this pursuit overcame him. Kelas had come upon him in such a state on a few occasions; he did not enquire too deeply but it was clear he saw what was happening and knew better than to address it.

If Elim Garak had possessed the ability to express to another what had taken possession of him in these moments, he would have perhaps intimated to Kelas that he could not allow the universe to suspect he had hopes for the future because the universe was always ready to laugh at such weaknesses and to take advantage of them – he had certainly always exploited the weaknesses he had been able to perceive in others, whether he had done this is a professional or patriotic capacity. To cultivate a garden for him and Julian to enjoy when he returned would only put Julian's return in jeopardy. To read a book and to allow himself to pass an unworried hour or two was also to endanger Julian's safe homecoming. He needed time to pass but conversely, he could not allow time to pass in a manner which indicated he was looking to the future for that would be the surest way to ensure neither of them would have a future. Elim could scarcely admit the enormity of what he only now understood with Julian's absence and the uncertainty of his return – if his dear Julian did not return, then nothing else had a great deal of meaning. He was still capable of carrying out his duties and feeling the importance of the work he did for Cardassia and yet it seemed distant to him now, as if he were looking through the wrong end of a telescope. He still understood and respected, and on good days, admired what the Doctor was doing, but privately, in the deepest part of himself, he knew time would have no meaning if Julian did not return. It was frightening to realise how his life, his very being had become wound with this other being. It didn't even seem romantic or beautiful, it was terrifying, akin to gazing upon a dramatic landscape or out at the night skies which they as a collective had only begun to explore, let alone comprehend.

Garak did not find himself missing the more physical aspect of their relationship so keenly – this was not to say he did not have wonderfully warm and sensuous dreams featuring his dearest Julian in an array of positions and poses. However, he would happily have sacrificed all of that, all of their games and scenes, only to have him by his side, to stroke his thigh, to feel his fingers stroking down his face, to press his head against his, to see his eyes and be seen by them.

So, he drank. Garak had told himself, had sworn to himself he would not fall for this, for something so base and pedestrian and yet, it was so easy to allow it to take hold. And all the while he drank, he feared that succumbing to such a weakness meant he was once again making the chances of Julian's return more precarious. If Julian was busy risking his life, and the life of his partner, by pursuing the greater good, then it seemed so very small to be found drinking a second bottle of kanar as the night crept on, and yet he could not stop. When it had become apparent to Kelas that this was what Garak was doing, he had quietly moved himself temporarily into his home.

In one way, it had not been too great a hardship to cease his drinking – he had not enjoyed it and that had not been the purpose of it. The intention had not been to ignore his reality, not as he had with the implant. He had not sought a softening of the jagged edges of his days, he had wanted to enhance the quality of pain he was experiencing, to throw into sharper relief his solitude whilst his Julian was engaged in cutting out the dark tumour of the Federation. He was also no longer alone in this undertaking, for in order to present a believable front and to have the benefit of keeping another double agent close, he was living a false life but with a very real woman, Sarina.

“Elim.”

Garak looked up into Kelas' face. He wished the other Cardassian would reach across the table and clasp his hand or even touch his arm – it was not a sexual desire, he just wanted to feel someone's touch, a friend's sympathetic closeness. Instantly and involuntarily, he was presented with the images of Julian sharing his daily life not with him but with someone else, even though it was not a real partnership, or at least, it was not meant to be.

“You've lost the game, I'm afraid.”

“Indeed. It does appear that way, doesn't it?” He made a small “hm” before beginning to clear the table.

After he had stopped drinking, Garak had focused on work. It was the only solution really – it passed the time, it tired him, and he was able to dedicate himself fully to the cause of Cardassia. It had initially been strange, consciously returning so completely to this sphere of life, and he found he took to it with ease, even more so than he had to drinking. He worked, unceasingly, and whilst he focused on the concrete results for Cardassia, the erection of schools, the purification of water, deploying Federation scientists to assist in rehabilitating the land, other results came about which he had not necessarily intended. His influence increased, and increased, his connections were re-established; soon he had moved from one position to another, and as the months continued on and formed more than a year, he moved from being a valued politician to Castellan, a turn of events he had not entirely foreseen but welcomed. He exerted his control fiercely, needing to keep the fragile new Cardassian form of democracy alive, to keep it accepted, and to quash any threat to it. He informed Julian of these developments, in an odd, dispassionate way, as if these great developments were not being instigated by him or had a great deal to do with him. He feared committing too much to a padd, feared endangering Julian, and yet, the result was only to further widen the chasm between them. Each time he sat to communicate something to his partner now, it became more difficult, as if he was forgetting how to connect with dear Julian. This was perhaps the case – they would have to rediscover one another after this time apart, these experiences they had lived through without each other.

Kelas held out his hand to Garak, and Garak rose, crossing to him, assisting the older Cardassian to his feet. He did not release his hold on Garak, however, and he wondered, not for the first time, if Doctor Parmak was somehow in possession of telepathic powers.

“Unfortunately, Elim, though you are a most able politician, and perhaps the most suitable Castellan for Cardassia in her current state, you will not be able to maintain indefinite peace.”

“I do not recall ever stating that this was my intention.”

Kelas held Garak's elbow in his hand, leaning on his cane with the other. “No, that is true. However, one cannot help but get the impression that you are seeking to create a Cardassia with no rivalries or conflicts, so that those who live here will not be in danger of being drawn into further intrigues.”

Garak paused and regarded Kelas. “There is truth in what you say. But it isn't every truth. Yes, there is some futile hope in me that if between us, Julian and I, managed to rid our worlds of these negative influences, then we will have a peaceful life which will no longer necessitate such unnatural absences. But I do not do this solely for that purpose. I do still serve Cardassia. Perhaps I do it because of conditioning, or because of some residual strange ideas of succession and family. Perhaps I do it for those who cannot be here, the Damars, the Ziyals. Perhaps I do it out of superstition, out of desperation, out of selfishness, but not completely. There are layers and layers of motivations and reasons for doing this, all created from the randomness of chance and time which goes into making a person and their character and places them where they are in space and time. I cannot define it or pin it down any further than that and to do so would be trite, it would be simplistic, and in many ways, it would be a lie.”

“Julian will be pleased indeed – you have moved from lies to multiple truths which can never be wholly expressed.”

“My dear Kelas, it is the same thing, differently formulated, is it not?”

Garak prepared for bed, and knew sleep would not come to him tonight. It had been a pleasant evening, and he was tired, yet he could not settle. There came a light knock at his bedroom door.

“Forgive me if this is impolite and out of the bounds of your kind hospitality.”

“It isn't hospitality, Kelas, I think that is clear at this point.”

“Elim, would you care for me to share your bed with you this evening?”

Garak was so shocked that he could not hide it. Kelas sighed.

“Not in that manner, not at all. I hope you do not take offence at this but I am not interested in you sexually. And I do not believe you are in me either. Which is rather fortunate.” He smiled. “No, Elim, I meant what I said literally, to share a bed with you. It has been rather difficult to overlook your intense loneliness in these recent weeks.”

Garak had begun to relax but these last words stung him once more into defensiveness. “I must work on concealing such feelings, they are not becoming.”

Kelas sighed. “Elim, have you ever considered that Cardassians such as Dukat never experienced any sense of guilt over what they did? That they lived their lives contentedly, with only moments where realisation tried to force itself on them but they were able to suppress it once again?”

“I do not follow what this has to do with anything currently happening in this room.”

“Put another way – you have always sought a punishment for your deeds. Perhaps this is your punishment, to be conscious of the wrong you have done, to feel it, and to carry that feeling with you for the rest of your life.”

Garak swallowed, his throat clicking drily.

“So, please, do not continue to seek to punish yourself by some external means. You are already living your punishment, that your life will always, always have a small taint to it, the remembrance of wrong done by you, and feeling it viscerally.” Kelas placed his hand on Garak's arm. “Please allow me to keep you company tonight. As a friend.”

“Friends do not customarily share each others' beds.”

“How terrible. Why can't we demonstrate that we care for our friends, that we love them? It is not a form of betrayal. It is a different form of affection, only.”

Garak made no reply but found that he did suddenly wish to be able to lie down in bed beside Kelas, to have another beside him, and a valued friend at that. He thought of Julian, holding Kukalaka, cradled to his chest or his nose pressed against the little bear's head.

“It is not a betrayal. Or do you believe that Julian does not allow himself to express affection and care for others? We are living beings, Elim, we need company, we need closeness. You are lonely. Please allow me to do what little I can to alleviate that. I am aware that I am not the one you need but as a friend, perhaps I can help somewhat.”

Garak guided them out of the bedroom, not needing to articulate that they would not share the bed he shared with Julian.

He listened in the darkened room to Kelas' regular breaths beside him; it did help, it brought some comfort, yet it did not make sleep come any easier to him.


	18. Chapter 18

When Garak saw that he had an incoming call from Captain Ezri Dax, he immediately knew something had happened, and more specifically, that something had happened to Julian; he was correct in this. 

Kelas came upon him, sitting before the now blank screen. He waited for his friend to speak. Garak found it took him some time to regain control over this ability. 

“Julian was apparently successful in his plan.”

“What else happened, Elim?”

“The thing is, I cannot believe Section 31 could be taken out in such a manner. Were they not prepared for such an eventuality? And what better way to rebuild power than to let everyone assume you are destroyed? I am sorry for the Doctor, as I so very much wish I was not convinced by this doubt. I so very much wish I could say I believe wholeheartedly that he had been completely successful.”

“Elim.” Kelas' hand came to rest on his shoulder as he bent over him, leaning on his cane. 

“Sarina Douglas was killed.”

“And Julian?”

“Julian is alive. But nothing more than that.”

“Elim, I do not understand, what do you mean by this?”

Garak could hear the confusion and concern in his friend's voice but could not see it in his face as he kept his gaze turned away from him. He sought to still his thoughts as his mind raced to form denials and arguments, positing solutions, making deals, fixing everything before his partner had even returned home to confront him with the reality of what Dax's words had conveyed to him. Another insidious, insistent voice whispered to him, and it much resembled Tain's – well, Elim, there is your punishment. It has finally come home to you. 

“I am afraid that in living out his spy fantasy the Doctor has not come away unscathed. He has fallen into a catatonic state.” He rose abruptly, to ready himself to receive Dax and his partner when they landed.

“Oh Elim.” Kelas' voice was quiet, no strength in it, a mere shocked sigh escaping his lips. 

“Kelas, there is much I need to do to be ready for Captain Dax and Julian.” 

The older Cardassian made to reach out a hand to him, but seemed to think better of this and let it fall to his side once again without making contact. “Of course. Would you prefer if I vacated your home before he arrives?” 

Garak stopped, the question somehow managing to cut through the fog deadening him. “No. If it is amenable to you, I would prefer if you could remain here for a while longer.” 

Kelas acknowledged this and moved off slowly, leaving Garak to ignore his thoughts in favour of action and created activity. 

-

Could it be called a reunion if only one party of the two understood what was happening? Garak mused to himself as he strode forward to meet Captain Dax as she pushed a wheelchair in front of her, a medical orderly following them. Could they call this a homecoming? Well, he had got what he wanted, hadn't he? That voice had returned, although it hadn't really left him all morning. He had wanted Julian to return to him, alive. Well, there he was. Be careful what you wish for, it might just come true.  
But, it was Julian. It was Julian. Garak gazed down at his partner and no matter what else they would have to face or deal with, it was indeed his dear Julian, returned to him. He wanted to take the wheelchair from Captain Dax immediately, turn his back on all of them, close the doors to his home, and stay with Julian until – until what, he did not even dare to articulate, not even to himself. Julian did not appear to register anything that transpired around him, there was no outward sign of being aware of where he was or who was with him. He was clean and neat, clearly being well attended to. There was no tension in his limbs and Garak imagined how his hands had to be placed in his lap to assume the position they were in. His head tipped down towards his chest, his eyes open but unmoving; it was shockingly unnatural to Garak, to see Julian's eyes without movement or energy, without shimmering and changing tones, without warmth and fondness, exasperation, intent focus, sorrow or desire. He would be seen by those eyes again. He had to be. 

Garak tried not to be short with Captain Dax, however he could hardly conceal how urgently he was compelled to remove Julian from their presence, and not only due to his own rash inner state. He could not be sure that Julian was safe, or would ever be completely safe again after what he had done to Section 31. However, if anyone wanted to get to Julian, they would have to come through Garak first; he could not do much to alter the situation he found himself in, but at least there was this much, he would be able to physically protect his partner, at least his current position of power provided for that, and he was grateful for what such power afforded him and his love. 

-

Garak could not sleep; this was not unusual in recent times. However, this was different – he found himself alone in the bed he shared with Julian even though his partner was in the house with him. He had been settled into the rooms on the ground floor Garak had chosen for him, and he could only watch as the space was filled with medical equipment as well as with the presence of a nurse. He thought back to the first disassociated state he had witnessed his partner in and how he had managed to care for him during that short period. Even though he understood Julian required round-the-clock attention and expert care, he inwardly balked, wanting privacy for them both. 

And so Garak lay awake in their bed, alone, thinking of Julian, alone in his new bed in their home. He sat up. There was something missing. Julian shouldn't be alone in his bed, even if he could not join him. 

He donned a dressing gown and moved quietly through the corridors, entering Julian's new quarters, inexplicably feeling as if he were trespassing where he was not needed. The silence and darkness was broken only by the sound of his own breathing and the regular bleeps emitting from the machine monitoring Julian's vital signs. Garak did not approach his partner just yet, turning his attention instead to the meagre possessions he had returned with – it did not take him long to ascertain that one thing was missing, one thing which Julian very much needed and Garak knew he would miss. Or rather that he did miss it, he could just not express this to them.  
He gathered himself together and approached Julian's bed. His partner was not asleep, that much he could tell. He must sleep at some point though? He was now disturbed by this thought that Julian could not get them to understand when he wished to sleep or not and so had to dragged around to the shape of the day and night that was made for him. The lights were dimmed and Garak could perceive that his partner's eyes were open, unfocused, unseeing, turned inwards. Tentatively, he sat down at the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb the prone form in front of him. He bent forward, tuning out the sound of the machine next to them, attuning himself to the actual sound of Julian's regular breaths. He took his wrist in his hand, pressing his fingertips to the inside of his arm, feeling the softness and warmth of the skin there, circling his thumb over this smooth patch, hoping that Julian could sense this, and that it was not unpleasant or unwelcome to him. 

“I am so glad you returned to me, Julian.” In such a quiet, almost cloistered space, he instinctively wanted to speak in a low whisper but he went against this, speaking clearly, as if talking in a louder tone of voice was all that was required to reach Julian, wherever he was. 

“I hope you will not mind if I hold off on the celebratory aspects of your homecoming just for the moment. I think it would be more enjoyable to share that with you when you feel able to do so.” His hand released Julian's wrist and moved to his face, caressing his cheek and his jaw. Lines were dug into his face that Garak had not seen before, cuts which could become scars also scabbing over. He felt stubble under his fingertips and acquainted himself with this sensation on Julian.

“Really, perhaps cultivating a beard would be most becoming to you, Doctor, I imagine you would look very distinguished.” 

Garak found he could not take much more of hearing the sound of his own voice go unanswered. 

“Do not worry, Julian, I will have Kukalaka retrieved for you.” He stroked his hair, smoothing back from his forehead, allowing his fingers to trail over his temples, focusing on the sensation of where his skin turned into dark strands. “My dear Julian.” If only he could summon him back by the mere repetition of his name. “My dear, I do trust you. I have always trusted you. And I trust that you know what you need in order to recover and come through the ordeal you have experienced.” He took a deep breath. “I am truly sorry that Sarina suffered such a fate. I am sorry.” He moved his hand, touching Julian's neck, his thumb swiping over his collarbone. “I will be here when you are ready, Julian. Only when you are ready.” He found himself thinking of another context, completely removed from this sterile environment, when Julian had had such patience with him, had taken beautiful care of him – it seemed indecent to remember such things but another part of Garak protested at this, protested that it was exactly this he needed to remember about his partner, his vibrancy, his lust for life, his desires, what made him vital. 

When he returned to his own room, he was not entirely surprised to hear Kelas' knock upon his door. 

“Elim, you cannot sleep?” 

“No, Kelas. I needed to check in on Julian. I realised he does not have his teddy bear, an oversight I must correct as soon as possible.”

“A teddy bear.” Garak could tell Kelas was struggling to process this information; he knew that if Garak considered this to be so important then it certainly was, but he could not see the importance himself.

“Julian's teddy bear has been a lifelong companion. He was the only company he had when he was forced against his will, and unnecessarily, into hospital as a child.”

“It will bring him comfort?” 

Garak inclined his head, affirming this. A painful twist in his stomach reminded him of Julian's hands, holding his Kukalaka, seeking reassurance that his bear was really there, and how hollow Garak had felt at the realisation he had not understood that during his dissociative state his partner had wanted his bear very badly and he had not had him. He would not fail him this time; however, he would not reveal this failure of his to Kelas. He would also not reveal to Kelas his foolish hope that holding the little bear would help bring Julian back, would assist him in feeling safe enough to do so.  
-

Kelas continued to encourage Garak to spend time with Julian, to read to him, to talk with him. How could Garak convey to his friend that he had lost faith in words and their power? Julian had been overwhelmed by words before, to the point of falling into a similar catatonic state. His father had forced him to repeat meaningless words to idiot, gawping associates on a nightly basis. He hadn't even wanted words initially, not being able to speak by the age of six, he had to be violently changed and forced into doing so. Why would words have power to connect with Julian now? Garak knew all too well how poisoned words could become; there were still certain Cardassi words he could barely stand to hear or see written down, the sickening memories of codebreaking and the war and the role he had played was too strong. How could he blame Julian for refusing words? 

But Garak also struggled with sitting in silence, sitting across from his partner, trying to simply be with him when he could not reach him. It became easier to slip away, to find excuses for not spending time with Julian; it was not that he did not want to, he ached to be in Julian's company once again. Still, it hurt too greatly, and another fear had gripped Garak in recent days – what if his presence was somehow hindering Julian's recovery? He could not know what was going on inside his partner and what if he had been acting from the mistaken assumption that he was what Julian needed currently? 

“Elim.” He and Kelas were sharing a kanar one evening, welcoming the rare break from politic work and duties at the hospital, respectively. Garak had just been musing on the different quality of silence he experienced with Kelas currently, and not with Julian. Their silence was companionable because they were sharing it, sharing in it. “Elim.” This time Garak reacted and could only be grateful for his friend's patience with these particular lapses of his. “What do you believe life is?”

“My word, Kelas, could you perhaps warm up to your subject with something slightly easier to address?” 

Kelas smiled at him. “I do not refer to the meaning of existence or what the biological definition of existence is. Rather, what is one aspect of experience which to you is essential to how you define 'being alive'?” 

Garak swirled the kanar in his glass and considered this. “Memory.” 

Kelas looked at him, his interest apparent and so he continued. 

“Without memory we are not truly conscious that we are living. Certainly, we would experience impulses, needs to be satisfied, days and nights would follow and we perhaps would note these changes only to forget them again. But if we cannot remember who we are, what made us what we are, our history, our traditions, if we cannot remember the faces of those we choose to surround ourselves with, I find it quite difficult to conceive of life functioning as we understand it in our experience. It is in our Cardassian culture, Kelas, consider the sacrosanct importance of a dying Cardassian needing to pass on his life's knowledge and memory to another before he leaves this world.” 

“There isn't a correct answer, Elim, rather, I believe any answer is correct in as much as it is held to be true by the person who believes in it.”

“You have a terrible habit of posing what seem like abstract philosophical questions only for me to fall into the trap of giving something away I never intended to.”  


“Then I will answer also, and we can meet each other there. I do accept that memory is a key component of what it means to exist as sentient beings. Issues of time travel or dementia, or indeed Trill hosts do queer that postulation in an interesting way.” 

What if only one party can remember? Garak asked himself. He understood that Julian's memory faculties were not damaged, they were intact but simply shut off currently. Was there a difference? If Julian was to remain permanently in his catatonic state then they would not be able to share their private memories together again, to enjoy reminiscing on the mythology which made up the patchwork quilt of their life together. Perhaps he was to be the sole chronicler from now on, perhaps his punishment would be to remember each unchanging detail of their life together from now on.

“What do you believe to be the necessary defining characteristic of existence, Kelas?” Garak managed to rouse himself and attend to the topic at hand once more, not wishing to give his friend cause to enquire as to his current state. 

Kelas paused for only a beat before answering. “Pain.” 

Garak had not been expecting such a response and he was not sure he had been fully successful in concealing this reaction from the older Cardassian.

“It surprises you? Elim, I am a doctor, I can tell you that pain is the one certainty in our existences, physical and mental. We all have that in common, the ability to experience pain, to hurt, to grieve, to struggle with the consequences of the different kinds of pain we experience. Our new Cardassia is being born out of great, great hurt and grief. Even our friendship, Elim, began with pain, with painful memories.”

Garak kept his expression neutral as a blur of images and sensations, remembered and preserved, no less intense for being in the past, came to him. He had inflicted pain on his own body, littering it with scars which had become paler over the years. He thought of the pain masked by the implant. The pain of losing his father and mentor. The pain of separation from Julian. The pain Julian had administered to him with such love and care – he could not communicate this last one to Kelas. 

“Each experience we live through, the good ones, the meaningful ones, usually imply a pain deferred and that is the price we pay. If we love, we will experience heart break, if we love, we will inevitably lose our loved ones, and we will experience grief. There is no escape from it. We have to instead make a choice, if it is worth it, if we are willing to expose ourselves to this pain.”

Garak understood that Kelas was referring to himself, but also was making a comment on Julian's current condition. It left a heavy sensation in his chest to hear these words and comprehend how much Kelas had indeed struggled in getting past his interrogation at Elim's hands in order to cultivate a friendship he believed was worth this distress. Garak could only admire Doctor Parmak's resilience and he hoped he could continue to be worthy of such a commitment. 

“No matter what happens in this life, Elim, Julian will have to experience hurt and grief again. His memories will hurt him and grieve him too. But if he chooses not to re-join you in this life, I cannot think of anything more tragic. I have not had the honour of getting to know the Doctor intimately yet, and I hope still that I may do so, but one thing is clear; he is not a coward. Do not give up on him, Elim. Fight for him to come back.”

-

Julian's chair was placed near the window; the dry dust outside swirled and scratched against the glass. Garak saw that Kukalaka was on the window sill and he made a note to himself to write a proper thank-you note to Doctor Pulaski for reuniting his partner with his companion. He pulled up a chair and sat directly across from Julian. After his discussion with Kelas, he had consciously spent more time with Julian; perhaps he was an annoyance to his partner, but if he had to annoy him back into his life then he could be as stubborn as his dear Doctor. 

He had begun to read enigma tales aloud to him. He hoped the familiar texts, combined with the familiar voice, would do something to spark recognition in Julian, to encourage him to return. Sometimes he struggled to keep his voice steady as he read, he struggled to even look at Julian but he soon began to allow these cracks to come through, for there was no one else present, it was just them, and Kukalaka. 

Garak took this commitment deadly seriously and not a day passed where he did not spend time with Julian, finding that these periods became longer and longer. They were a third of the way into their current enigma tale. He sighed.

“This one is not quite a shining example of the genre, hm?” He queried. Julian's eyes saw nothing. “Or perhaps I will find even worse enigma tales to read to and you will be so appalled that you will return to make me stop.” Kukalaka's bead eyes shone. Nothing disturbed the room. “Oh, my dear. Perhaps you don't wish for words at all. I do apologise. If only I knew whether I was doing this right or not.”

For something niggled at him – that he was doing something wrong, he had failed to consider something. He looked at the enigma tale he held in his hands, some of the Cardassi symbols immediately jumping out at him as he connected them with Julian, with his intense enthusiasm for the logic of Cardassi, his tactile enjoyment of the lettering. It struck him then. Yes, he had been going about this in the wrong way. But not entirely, rather, it needed only a bit of refining. 

Garak rose and crossed over to Julian. He raised his hand and using his fingers, sought where Julian's universal translator was hidden and turned the machine off. He then flicked off his own before reseating himself.

“Now.” He picked up the enigma tale once more. “Perhaps this text will at least improve for you now that you will hear it in its unadulterated Cardassi. Cardassi's words can cover a multitude of sins in writing.” 

He read on, and the dust continued to swirl against the window.

-

Garak had fallen into the habit of commenting on sections of the enigma tales he read to Julian. It could be a finely wrought sentence that he would praise and repeat, or indeed the opposite, an awful line he would deride and rewrite himself, asking Julian what he thought of his version. He would discourse on how the author was building up the tale, the clues they were leaving, the red herrings too. Along the way, he began to make comments about their life together which he recalled in the course of reading.

“We spent many evenings sharing a sofa together, reading. I so loved those evenings together, really, I found the picture you made whilst reading very charming. It was wonderful to hear you share your thoughts on what you were currently engaged with. And when you expressed interest in the Cardassi works I was reading, well, it did help to assuage my homesickness just a bit.”

Garak did not edit how he spoke now even though they were both without their universal translator. He wondered what Julian would make of his Cardassi, with its highly stylised forms, its long sentences, careful word selections, he approaches and retreats, the literary allusions, hints at references that only the two of them could understand.

He returned to the tale, one of a better calibre than usual, and he savoured the author's style. Indeed, he was so involved in the tale that he initially failed to notice the small movement in the younger man across from him. When his eye did register this movement, and then his mind processed this, he froze, watching it only out of the corner of his eye, terrified of raising his gaze and finding that he had imagined it all or that the movement would be too sudden for Julian and he would go back into himself again. The movement continued, repeating itself and so Garak risked looking directly at him. He was gripping his bear weakly, his fingers moving over Kukalaka's fur. 

“Julian. Julian, d'aashur imje.”He spoke lowly. 

Julian's eyes were moving. They remained dull and exhausted, but they moved, slowly. The machine began to beep rhythmically, and in increasing volume, and Garak knew the nurse would be with them in a moment to investigate what was happening. He had only a few moments before their privacy would be intruded upon. He knelt down at Julian's chair, clasping his hands in his own, repeating his name and the Cardassi term of endearment for him. He saw Julian's thin chest rising rapidly, shallowly, and he wondered if it was akin to a diver coming back up from the depths of water, pushing through the heaviness of the element around them, the light reaching them as they neared the surface, finally able to gulp for air, completely disoriented at the difference in their surroundings. Indeed, it seemed particularly apt when Julian's mouth began to open and close, like a fish gasping, out of its environment. Julian's hands remained limp in his grasp, there was no return pressure. But then he locked eyes with Garak, and Garak knew immediately that Julian was still there, changed, in ways neither of them quite understood yet, but he was there, he was there. His mouth continued to open and close, and finally, he made a sound, it initially resembled hissing, but then it took sharper form and Garak waited for him to find the word he wanted. Julian's body was trembling with the effort, and Garak heard the thud of rapidly approaching footsteps, which he now welcomed as his partner clearly needed medical assistance. Julian managed to catch a deep lungful of breath and his voice slurring but still understandable, he spoke to Garak.

“Të kt'hehem.” I have returned to you. But rather it was grammatically incorrect and yet Garak viscerally felt what Julian meant by this wrong usage. He had used the reflexive form of the verb “to return”. Instead of saying “I have returned to you.”, he had said “I have returned to myself.” and "you" which made no grammatical sense here. Or it could be understood as “I have returned [you] to myself” or "I have returned to myself [you]". And whichever way Garak examined it, each understanding of it was so completely true and it was the most beautiful sentence he had ever heard in his own language.


	19. Chapter 19

The first days after Julian had come out of his catatonic state were strange to Garak, almost as if they were all standing outside of time, away from the rest of life on the planet, suspended, waiting: waiting to see if Julian would stabilise, for doctors and nurses to assess what damage had been done and what lay ahead of them in terms of recovery. 

Garak did not fear that Julian would fall back into his dissociative state; somehow he sensed from his partner's determined first words to him that he had made a conscious decision to stay with him here. However, the younger man did struggle to remember not only where he was but what year it was; it was as if in reaction to the deep, black nothingness of catatonia his mind was now scrambling to reassemble itself, and its memories, and so Julian slipped between the past and the present. Garak had initially been concerned that Kelas' presence would further confuse Julian but he apparently accepted the older Cardassian, unquestioning. Indeed, he seemed to find his company calming, and noticing this, Kelas quietly began to spend more time sitting with Julian, which aided Garak greatly and enabled him to dedicate the requisite time to the very pressing responsibility of being Castellan. 

Garak did not know how to keep Julian anchored in the present moment and one evening Kelas had addressed this concern of his friend's. Julian had had a very erratic day, as if he were on a ship pitching wildly in the middle of a storm upon the ocean, the tilting walkway on the vessel resembling the patterns of his mind as he swung from one memory to another, recognising Garak, peaceable in Kelas' presence before something shifted violently, returning him to the past, distressing him, leaving him panicky, clutching to Kukalaka and making keening noises, recoiling from his partner.

“It must be painfully difficult for you, Elim, to have to witness Julian's upset in such moments.”

Garak sat in an armchair across from Kelas, and he nursed a kanar although he truly wished he could toss off a couple of them quickly in a row. He could not know what was going through Julian's mind during these occasions as he did not speak, in Federation Standard or Cardassi. Garak had his dark suspicions though that some of these attacks sent Julian back to the cold heart of his childhood, alone and frightened in a hospital but for Kukalaka.

“However, I believe it is necessary for him.” The older Doctor continued. 

“My dear Kelas, how so?” 

“I can empathise only too easily with the desire to spare our loved ones distress and pain. However, in this case, I firmly believe this is Julian's mind doing its best to work through the horrible experiences he has been subject to in his pursuit of the destruction of Section 31, and unfortunately other experiences appear to be getting mixed up in all of that.” 

Garak had been earlier considering enquiring with the nurses and doctors if there was some kind of drug they could administer to Julian in order to soften these attacks but at Kelas' words, he was forced to recognise the validity of his theory. Julian had been deferring this painful work now ahead of him; it had been a matter of survival and his mind had reacted accordingly but now the threat had passed. 

A smile touched Kelas' lips as he observed Garak's facial expression. “Do not worry, Elim, I assure you, I will be wrong one of these days, and I will not begrudge you your enjoyment of that moment.”

“Hm.” 

-

As the days wore on, there began to be fewer of these attacks, and other questions presented themselves. Garak would sit with Julian and talk to him, and though he would soon become too tired, they were able to begin talking for short periods. On other occasions, they would simply sit in companionable silence, and often Julian would reach for Garak's hand, holding on to it tightly. Garak saw exhaustion in Julian's brown eyes still but other things began to colour them, softness returning to them, fondness evident too when he would look at his partner.  
Garak began to recognise two conflicting drives in Julian; on some days, he appeared frustrated with his lack of progress, clearly chafing against what he perceived as the limitations placed on him by his still recovering body and mind. On other days, however, he seemed to retreat from recovery and what came with it. Garak hoped Julian understood, as scattered as his perception still remained, that there was no pressure from him or any other external parties to recover at a certain pace, there were no arbitrary deadlines or targets to be hit. 

“Elim.” Julian's voice remained scratchy from lack of use but it was slowly regaining its strength. 

“My dear.” Garak moved closer to his partner. He had been discoursing mildly about the flowers he hoped to plant when the weather became clement for this and was explaining to Julian what the various Cardassi blooms looked like, their meaning and purposes. It was strange to talk with Julian again and Garak could not help feel self-conscious no matter what he said to his partner at this time, it all seemed artificial and arbitrary. But if he did not choose some topic to talk about, they would end up saying nothing, and so Garak chose something from all the hundreds of things he wished to say to him and reminded himself repeatedly how happy he was simply to be conversing with his dear Julian once again. 

Julian had not returned to speaking Federation Standard. This was currently the one major alteration evident in his partner. There was a part of Garak which was quietly convinced that Julian would not return to speaking this language in the near future, and possibly not at all. He understood this and did not view it as a symptom, as damage, and he steadfastly rebuffed any overtures by doctors and nurses to this effect, and Doctor Parmak supported Garak on this in his professional capacity. 

“Elim, do you think we could discuss with the doctors whether can I vacate these quarters of mine? I would very much like to return to our bedroom.” 

“I too, my dear. I have not quite slept as well as I am used to for some time now.” This, although true, was merely a nice line to throw in. He thought instead how he did not believe they would fully reunite until they began to share their selves and space with one another. It seemed such a simple thing, sharing a bed with someone, literally, but it was much more than that. It was sharing the darkness and quiet with them, the little bits of conversation before they wound down for the night, waking up to your partner, starting the day with them as well as ending it together. Garak still experienced a sense of distance from Julian, and he understood this was only natural after their separation and then Julian's unresponsive state. He knew that sharing a bed together would not solve all of these issues in one fell swoop but he also knew it would help them to become partners more fully again as they sought to navigate the strangeness of learning how to be together again when everything had changed so much. 

-

The curtains to their bedroom were drawn, making the space appear smaller and Garak did not perceive this as something negative; he did not have a sense of the walls closing in but rather of cosiness, privacy, a place where no one else could trespass. Julian continued to use a wheelchair, and they did not know yet whether this was something he would require for only the duration of his recovery or whether he would need this support on a more permanent basis. The doctors would not discuss this too directly, emphasising that it was still very early days in the patient's rehabilitation.  
Julian accepted Garak's assistance as he manoeuvred himself into bed; it was the first occasion they had been physically close since his return without the barrier of separate quarters or the chair. It was a shock for Garak to feel the slightness of his partner's frame beneath his grip – Julian had always been slim, certainly, but this was different. This was the consequence of long-term inactivity, injury, and the weight loss which is inevitable in hospital.  
Garak pulled the covers around his partner who lay back on the pillows, settling himself in the soft bed, appearing too small. Garak set Kukalaka on Julian's bedside table before moving and sliding in between the covers, joining his partner. For some moments, they just lay there, reacquainting themselves with this state. Garak actively sought to tune out all the other concerns and duties of the day, focusing on this room, on this bed, on the feeling of his partner's weight undeniably beside him. He listened to Julian's own deep breaths. He found himself smiling. 

“I only realised now that I even missed hearing you doing your breathing exercises.”

Julian's eyes crinkled as a brief smile touched his face. He had not rid himself of his stubble, and the stubble had turned into a light beard, flecked with a great deal of grey. Garak had not yet adjusted himself to this new aspect of Julian's appearance but he very much admired it. How odd and innocent to recall the Doctor's downcast mood over turning thirty. He wondered how he appeared to Julian – it would need the gaze of a loved one to recognise any differences in him, he was not capable of noting the infinitesimal changes that accumulate over the days which make up months and ultimately years which alter and age the face and body. 

“I never thought I'd hear that from you. But I wasn't actually practicing any breathing exercises.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I was trying to smell everything. Particularly you. It has been so long since I was properly close to you and your scent.”

“I was not aware I had one that noticeable or distinct.” He shifted, laying on his side so he could look at Julian as they talked. How very Julian to be focused on something so tangible but also so intertwined with memory. He hoped it further indicated a reawakening of all his senses and desires; nothing would please him more than to witness Julian's energy and appetites returning. He only wished that Cardassia was not still struggling with post-war rations so that he could indulge his partner with delicacies – he had idle fantasies about them partaking of the finest dishes Cardassia would usually have to offer, falling into unending impassioned conversations, Julian looking enchanting as he argued and defended a certain point of view. He would give this to Julian one day again, somehow, he determined. 

Sometimes Julian required pauses between sentences. This did not concern or bother Garak. Patience had long been one of his strongest qualities. These breaks in their conversation gave Julian a chance to recover some energy or to process all the sensory input to which he was currently not accustomed. In this particular moment, it gave Garak the opportunity to look at his partner, and focus on the warmth emanating from his body, attending to each shift and twitch of his frame.

“I don't believe it is overly so, Elim. Only to me.”

Julian reached out his hand and trailed his fingertips over Garak's face ridges, moving slowly and deliberately. His eyes were intensely focused, as if he was comparing what he was touching with a memory, seeing where the differences lay. He traced his fingers over his lips then and Garak experienced a gentle warmth uncurling inside him, a softening of edges made hard by necessity. His partner even briefly ran his finger down his nose, a gesture Garak could not help but smile slightly at. Julian's gaze reflected Garak's inner state, radiating warmth, but tinged with something else. Julian returned his hand to Garak's ridges before allowing them to rest at his eyes, then his hair. 

“Are these because of me?” He asked, his voice quiet, as he pressed lightly at the deepening lines at his eyes, the more gnarled appearance of his ridges too, before tucking a stray strand of hair mixed through with white behind his ear. 

Elim leaned into Julian's touch. “Indeed, my dear Doctor, I believe we can trace their origins to that. But you forget, we are not like Terrans, we admire and value age, which includes the physical indications of it.”

In spite of these words, Julian's eyes remained more murky. “I am sorry, Elim.”

Garak covered Julian's hand with one of his own. “Do not apologise, Julian, please. In culture and literature, we are so accustomed to being presented with what love creates, how it inspires and ennobles, how it brings us to perform great heroic acts or to produce art, paeans to the state of romantic love. And these are wonderful. But wonderful also, and intrinsically a part of love too, are the signs of love we bear, the heaviness and responsibility of that love, making undeniable the evidence that we care this deeply for someone, that they care so deeply for us.” 

Julian shifted, and leaning nearer to Garak, kissed him, continuing to cup his face as he did so. This was the first chance they had had to kiss since Julian had come back to him. Though Garak's thoughts were very far from anything more carnal currently, he had been beset be a terrible burning need to just feel Julian against him again, to bestow this expressions of affection on him he had grown so accustomed to. They were hesitant at first, but then the sensation of Julian's mouth on his brought countless memories back, and Garak found himself carefully deepening the kiss, their mouths open, their tongues touching, a slow, meandering kiss, with no end point or direction, a kiss that was the main act itself, a kiss about being a kiss.  
Julian was the one to break off the kiss, but not the embrace; he allowed his head to drop, shifting so that his face was pressed against Garak's chest, his thin shoulders hunched up as he did his best to tuck himself as closely as he could to his partner. Garak held him close, hoping to impart the nearness he seemed to crave, alternately petting his hair or caressing the back of his neck. This was how it was meant to be, Garak thought to himself, no longer caring whether he was tempting fate with this sentiment.

-

Garak began to welcome retiring to bed with his partner as the part of the day he looked forward to most. It was here that they began to know one another again, where they spoke, circling painful thoughts and topics, approaching, retreating, re-sharing less harsh memories, or simply recounting what had occurred during the day, who Garak had encountered in his work, what Julian had spent time on that he believed to be of note. Julian's voice became more fluent, and its scratchy unused quality began to fade, its tempo not quite returning to full throttle yet. He continued to speak only Cardassi. Garak did not remark on this, not wishing to cause Julian to feel self-conscious or to instigate a conversation he perhaps was not yet ready for; however, he also worried that by not remarking on it he was drawing attention to it by omission. He admonished himself for these anxieties, ruefully reminding himself that his partner's return did not mean the end of his worries about him and their life together, it simply meant there were new and different things to worry about. 

Garak welcomed their nights together in spite of the onset of Julian's nightmares, which would tear them both from sleep, and he imagined Doctor Parmak could not fail to hear Julian's cries either. As much as it hurt him to witness his partner living through these night terrors, he also accepted them as part of Julian's recovery, though the Doctor himself might not have consciously recognised this just yet. He would shake his partner awake, with difficulty; on other occasions, the force of his own fearful visions would break Julian from the clasp of his own mind. He was panicked in the immediate aftermath, disoriented, unable to accept the reassuring embrace Garak wished to enfold him in. He could only murmur soft words repeatedly to him, awkwardly stroking his hair or holding his hand against his chest until he quietened, returned to himself, to the present moment. Sometimes he would be able to talk to Garak afterwards, putting together some words to attempt to convey what had insinuated itself into his dreams, turning them dark and menacing. Sometimes he would not be able to speak at all, and the first occasion this had occurred, Garak had anxiously searched Julian's eyes for signs of liveliness, of reaction, and was relieved to find them there. 

One evening, as Julian manoeuvred himself into their bed, with greater ease, Garak noted since the first time they had returned to their sleeping quarters, his face took on an expression that he was very familiar with, and he knew his partner was preparing to ask him something.

“Elim.”

“Yes, my dear?” He laid down the padd he had only been half-reading, and rested his hand on Julian's thigh over the eiderdown. 

“Have you ever had such nightmares?” 

Garak paused before answering. This was the first time they had addressed this occurrence directly. 

“Well, not quite like yours.”

“I imagine yours are much quieter.”

“You would be correct in that assessment. Though, oddly enough, during those nightmares, I experience myself as screaming and shouting within the dream, and it is confusing to awaken and realise that though I was making myself hoarse in my nightmare, there was no corresponding sound in the waking world, coming from my body. I even felt somewhat cheated in the aftermath, as if the nightmare was a poor substitute for being allowed to vent my frustration in the socially unsanctioned manner I really wanted to, if only just once.” 

“What were these nightmares, Elim?” Julian placed his hand over his partner's and lifted their entwined hands together and brought them underneath the warmth of the covers.

“I mainly had them in the aftermath of Tain's death.” Those dreams had been disjointed, simultaneously clearly formed by dream logic but also utterly real, a reliving of things which had not happened. Often the nightmare would start off innocuously, even in a completely pedestrian manner, Elim engaged in some tedious, necessary task. Then somehow, Tain would enter, already talking, but talking to someone else, not Elim, although there was no one else present. It did not matter how much Elim spoke to him, politely, or shouting then, cursing him, weeping, hurling everything unsaid during his lifetime at him, his father would not break off from talking to the absent presence and never would acknowledge Elim, not even when he began to physically tear his father limb from limb. Then he would wake up. 

At these words, he saw Julian start. 

“But Elim, we were a couple then, for quite some time. You mean, you never woke me up after these nightmares?” 

“Please, Julian, do not be hurt by this, I did not intentionally exclude you or turn away. You must remember -”. He tilted his head slightly. “At that time, I still had not quite learned how to let another, or rather one person, fully into myself. I simply was not ready, I was not there yet.”

Julian's face softened once more. “Well, it was certainly worth it then.”

“I hope I did not leave you waiting too long.” Had Julian felt isolated, knowing his partner was not able to be as open with him as he was? 

“No, Elim. Only before we became partners did I sometimes experience a frustration, or rather a confusion, as to why even in our friendship you still held me at a distance. But that changed when we became closer: I understood better then.” He paused. “I can only apologise that we do not speak as much as we have been accustomed to. I have been working on this.”

“Julian. Julian, you do not need to talk any more than you want to. This isn't a political soiree where you have to sustain a patter of meaningless chatter. We are together. You are still readjusting. I am still readjusting. We will find our rhythm again, in time.” 

His partner smiled, relief clear on his face, and in that moment he appeared suddenly younger. “Elim; do you believe it is possible to change, to change deeply, fundamentally, and yet still remain, at the core, yourself? Or what you conceive of as being your 'self'?”

“Of course.” He spoke with no hesitation for he truly held this conviction, though it had only been through his relationship with Julian that he had come to this insight. “That is the nature of life, we proceed through it, adapting. That is our great power, as painful as it can be. It is the very drive which underpins existence itself, and its development and evolution.”

He saw Julian swallowing. “My nightmares have been about – what happened in my time apart from you. But they have also been about Jules.”

Garak's heart twisted. “I had suspected, my dear.” 

“I'm not sure if -.” His voice faltered but Garak had already intuited what Julian was attempting to express and he brought his free hand to his partner's face, stroking over his cheek.

“You have already had one self taken from you. Are you concerned that you no longer feel like Julian Bashir? Or do you feel that after such a life-shattering period and experience you are compelled to give up your current self?”

He nodded jaggedly, his eyes locked on Garak's, looking for an anchor. 

“I can confirm that you are very much still Julian Bashir, and you are my dear Julian. But no, things will not be as entirely as they were before.”

“I can't speak Federation Standard at the moment, Elim. I mean that I can't, but also probably that I do not wish to. How do I explain this to my friends, who knew me before?”

“You do not need to explain or justify anything. It is your reaction.”

“But what if the life I have built up no longer fits what I have become? What if I can no longer walk, and I am confined to a wheelchair permanently? What if I am no longer able to be a Doctor? Elim, this is the first time in my life, post-enhancements, that I have just done nothing. Nothing. What am I without all of that which drove me on? What if I lose my sex drive permanently? I currently feel little to no desire and yet I love you and know I want you but I can't feel it. Thank God, I love you, Elim, it is the only thing that I am sure of.”

“Those are questions that will take some time to find the answer to, I am afraid. However, most of us are not even brave enough to consider such questions, though that may be exactly what they need to do.”

“I suppose at least one thing is clear enough, that the state I am in I will no longer be able to play our scenes together.” Julian's voice was filled with self-deprecation.

“I don't understand, Julian. How so? However, if it is something you no longer wish to engage in, that is very valid.” Silently, he thought to himself how much he would regret this if it were true, how deeply he would miss this part of their lives, of himself. 

“Not at all, Elim, I love being with you like that, dominating you, seeing you in your submissive role. But, come on, I will not make a very convincing dom confined to a wheelchair.” He smiled bitterly, and Garak raised himself up on one arm and gazed sharply at his partner.

“I will kindly ask you to stop referring to yourself in such a manner.” He thought of Richard Bashir and could too easily imagine what the man would do if he were to ever discover where his son was and his current condition – blustering in, sending Julian once more to be “fixed” somehow. Even at a remove of decades, this childhood rejection (for what else was it other than rejection?) by his family could still affect Julian this powerfully. Garak considered a moment before beginning to speak.

“Do you remember when you first broached the idea of exploring this side of our relationship together, how very uncertain, and indeed, how very inexperienced I was?”

Julian nodded, his body still tense, defensive.

“You explained to me in quite a wonderful way how such roleplay functioned, you wanted to reassure me about what it was and more especially, what it was not. You clearly elucidated to me the importance of the word, the “play” and the “role” - that you do not in reality wield power or force over me, it is an agreement we enter into, and we enact ourselves, it is created by us, existing here, within these walls, and in our own heads, to be played out.”

“That is the basic understanding of it, yes.”

“Julian, to me, this then implies that, in line with what any competent politician knows, power lies where we perceive it to be. I do not fall into that submissive role with you because you exert force over me against my will; we have created a ritual together, and we are both aware we assume our roles, tapping in to something inherent in us, certainly, but allowing it to come out in these scenes we enact. All you have to do, Doctor, is use a certain tone of voice with me, use particular words of praise, and I would instantly submit myself to you, on my knees, and I would thank you for it. One does not need a physical manifestation of power in order to have it and those that rely solely on such force do not possess power to the extent that they believe they do.” He wondered if Julian would understand that with this last sentence he was in part referring to a figure such as Richard Bashir – when Garak thought of how young Jules had been, subject to the injustice of a father's assumed omnipotence, rage would bloom in him, at the pettiness of such a man. 

Julian's eyes were fixed on his partner, the wariness and defensiveness fading from them, replaced by evident fondness, a look Garak would never tire of being on the receiving end of, and a look which indicated to him that he had had some success in getting Julian to take his words on board.

“Certainly,” he resumed, “there will be aspects of that part of our relationship which will require some adaptation but you and I are nothing if not resourceful.”

“I fear, Elim, that when we do return to such activities, we will have to consider how to ensure poor Doctor Parmak is not exposed to them.”

“Hm.” Garak was correct; he could not quite envision how well Doctor Parmak would react to such a sight. He was, however, pleased to hear Julian apply the word “when” to the resumption of their activities. 

“You do bring up a necessary issue, Julian. Kelas' residence here had only ever been conceived of as a temporary stay by both of us.”

“We cannot ask Doctor Parmak to leave simply because I have returned, Elim, that would be terribly rude.”

“Kelas understands and would not perceive it as such. I relied very heavily on his friendship during our separation. That was why he came to stay here on an extended basis, to support me, and keep me company during difficult hours. But my dear, he does have his own life aside from this one friend of his.”

“I had hoped that was two friends.” Julian smiled. “Please, let Doctor Parmak decide himself when he wishes to leave. It is very clear how close he is to you.” 

“I have been very fortunate in my friends in the more recent part of my life.”

“And I,” Julian replied, “have been very fortunate in my family in the more recent part of my life than I was in childhood.”


	20. Chapter 20

Elim Garak returned to his home, alighting from the skimmer, and bidding good evening to his driver. He made his way to his study, setting down what he had brought back with him from work, then glancing briefly at a padd, examining the new Cardassian novel he promised both Julian and Kelas he would read. After refreshing himself, he approached their living room, and as he drew nearer, he perceived voices; habit caused him to slow his pace and hang back. He listened to the sounds of Cardassi spoken by two voices, one measured and gentle, the other lighter and quicker, which ground to a halt on occasion or was caught by a certain scratchiness before resuming its regular pattern. 

“- so the description of these items does nothing to serve the furthering of the text?” Kelas enquired.

“Not in that sense, no, but in another, absolutely.” 

“But Julian, I am aware of what Terran trees look like, and flowers. To accord such an object a detailed description indicates to me as a reader that the tree or the flower will later be revealed to play a significant role in the resolution of the story or that it is a hint as to something else in the narrative, an undercurrent.”

“Those are of course relevant arguments and do serve as good tools in crafting a text.” Julian conceded. There were still moments when Garak was struck by how his partner's Cardassi reflected his own manner of speaking: so strange to hear oneself echoed back in the speech of another. “But in this case, the tree will never appear in the text again, nor will the gillyflowers really.”

“So, what purpose do they serve then?”

Garak listened to Julian sigh, good-naturedly, with fondness in his voice. 

The growing intimacy between Julian and Kelas had at first unsettled Garak more than he wished to admit. He disliked being reminded that he was as fallible as anyone and could fall prey to such bouts of irrationality. He trusted Kelas implicitly, and he did want Julian to form friendships, as they had always played such a significant role in his life previously. Julian was still hesitant to contact his old friends, not because he did not care for them or miss them; he simply did not know how to begin the conversation with them, how to encounter those who knew him from what now felt to him to be a previous life. He would reconnect with them one day, Garak was convinced of this, but currently Julian was not equal to the task of witnessing his friends relearning their relationship, discovering and negotiating it all anew. Kelas was the first new friend he had made in this life and Garak could see how at ease his partner was in his company. Kelas had noticed the other Cardassian's struggle and had reassured him one quiet morning, placing his hand over his. 

“Elim, I am very aware that you love Julian, and that you also view him as having very particular aesthetic charms. Though I find Julian's company wonderful, and satisfying in many ways, please do not get any false impressions. I have no designs on your partner and he has not the faintest interest in me in that way either. Furthermore Elim, you do know how deeply I value our own friendship, and that I care for you a great deal too.”

Garak had been uncomfortable at the beginning of Kelas' speech but as it progressed, he lifted his other free hand and covered Kelas' with it, holding his hand now in both of his. 

Recalling this moment, Garak hung back no longer, and entered the room. Julian and Kelas both looked up, happy to see him. He noted Doctor Parmak's stick propped against his arm chair. Julian wheeled himself over to the cabinet and poured a kanar for his partner. 

Julian continued his recovery at an unhurried pace and Garak read the influence of Kelas in this. He knew himself the strength of Kelas' kindness when he had not been able to be kind to himself. Julian was usually the one who gave unstintingly of his own compassion but in relation to his own recovery certain internalised attitudes inherited from his parents had not been fully eradicated, and perhaps never would be. But both Elim and Kelas were there to counter them when they arose; particularly, Kelas' own situation made the older Cardassian's words on this more acceptable to Julian. He continued with his physiotherapy, making progress, but he allowed himself to continue to use his wheelchair, even if he could have, with great difficulty, perhaps have got by without it at this point. 

“What are we discussing?” Garak enquired as he settled himself near Julian. 

“Terran literature.” Kelas supplied. Garak discreetly looked sideways at the older Cardassian, silently asking for confirmation whether this meant Julian had not only returned to reading Terran authors, but had also returned to reading them in the original Federation Standard. A barely perceptible movement indicated Kelas' positive response to this. 

This was the first time since coming out of his catatonic state that Julian had even read Federation Standard. He still spoke only Cardassi but this newest development hinted that Julian was at least beginning to feel comfortable enough to read the language once again. Garak wondered exactly what happened to Julian when he thought of his first language. His relationship to it would be forever changed, even if he began to return to speaking it.

“Oh poor Kelas, is he attempting to convince you of the qualities of Terran literature?” 

“My dear Mr. Garak, I seem to recall a Cardassian tailor who was more than happy to discuss Terran literature with me, many years ago.”

“That particular Cardassian tailor's motives may not have been entirely pure.” He sipped at his Kanar. “Was there any work in particular being discussed?”

“'Brideshead Revisited'.” 

“Hm.” Garak savoured his mouthful of kanar. Since Julian's return, in both senses of the word, he had taken the greatest pleasure in sharing the choicest vintages of kanar from Tain's cellar. 

“You do not care for the work?”

“No, you misunderstand me, Dr. Parmak; rather, my trouble is that I too easily fall into the trap of the writing and it means I cannot engage with it properly.”

“How so?” Kelas looked intrigued now.

“To my mind, it is a critique of nostalgia. However, it deploys this critique by creating such langurous, beautiful prose, seeping the sentences and atmosphere in rose-golden light that one, or rather I, end up luxuriating in it, as if stupified. I cannot produce an actual response to it; as I said, I fall into its trap.” 

“That sounds dangerously akin to sentiment, Elim.” Julian said.

“Sentiment, my dear Doctor, not sentimental.”

Julian raised his glass slightly in acceptance of this qualification. “However, I do agree with your assessment. The main character, Charles, calls his memoirs 'sacred and profane'. That means they are untouchable, to be preserved as in an ancient tomb. He looks back but he looks back only to relive, to repeat. He can never critically look back for if he did, he would have to recognise that his misery was of his own making. Because that is Charles's, and his lover, Sebastian's, great flaw, that their tragedy is something they do to themselves. They fail each other in their own way and so all they have left are their memories, and if they were to look critically upon their happy times then they would have nothing.”

“A highly sensible lesson, if perhaps the harshest one there is to learn.” Kelas added.

“Are you saying, Julian, that we must learn to relinquish our illusions?” Garak queried.

“Yes. And our myths.” 

“I am yet to understand where the flowers come into it.” Kelas' voice was amused; his thorough enjoyment was evident, and Garak fed off of it and Julian's energy too. 

“But that is the point, Kelas.” Julian responded. “The gillyflowers are simply there. They become associated with this golden period of Charles' life, his relationship with Sebastian. They have no meaning outside of this context. They gain meaning from Charles' subjectivity, from the significance he accords to them, nothing further. That is the beauty of them.”

“As charming as that is, I do take issue with it, Julian dear.” 

“And I in turn insist, like Charles, on my being able to read the gillyflowers as subjectively as I wish to and I will not even attempt to put forth any evidence as to this.” Julian's brown eyes were filled with warmth and interest, a light touch of fun too. He appeared, in spite of his greying stubble, to be almost coquettish to Garak in this moment. It was a wonderful sight to behold.

“What interpretation do you have of these flowers, Elim?”

“Gillyflowers are given to those who mourn, Kelas. Their relationship is doomed from the start.”

“That does give it a slightly different colouring.”

“I will not bother to discourse on the other more typically received and understood symbolism attributed to flowers in general as I would only be making speculation based off of something too unprecise.” 

“How Cardassian.” Julian laughed. “To view the future as set and inevitable.”

“Oh, don't forget that it is also destined to repeat itself.” Kelas added and Julian laughed again at this.

“Well, in that respect, I do admit, Doctor, that perhaps some of our literature has been mistaken.” Garak poured another round of kanar for them, and he observed how the bottle emptied, the decades old liquor disappearing into the mouths of his friend and partner, respectively.

-

Garak was in his study when he heard the high-pitched beeping noise announcing an incoming call. It was not on his private devices, it was in the living room. He listened as Julian wheeled himself over to answer it. There were irregular messages from Julian's colleagues at the hospital, politely enquiring as to his well-being. It was clear from these personal calls that his former Cardassian colleagues esteemed him greatly. No mention was made by any of them as to when and if the Doctor would return to his work. 

Julian had accepted the call. The next moment, Federation Standard boomed out into their home, clearly audible through the walls. Garak gripped the desk, his sight almost going dark with rage. 

“- do you know what I had to do to even get ahold of these contact details? I used every connection and skill I had to get it, I can't understand why Star Fleet wouldn't just give it to me when I asked, after all, I was trying to find my own son, the embarassment of the situation you put us in, looking like we didn't know anything about your life -”.

Garak heard Julian's voice, much quieter, making an attempt to respond, to stem the onslaught of words. He snapped into action then, taking some measured deep breaths before rising and making his way to the study. 

“- why are you coming through in Cardassi, is there some sort of planet wide filter? Jules, Jules, what – are you in a wheelchair? What in the hell happened? How could that happen? Don't they have hospitals and treatments on Cardassi that would cure that? How could that happen with your enhancements, surely they would recover quickly? There can't be something wrong with them, can there? Dear God, what have they done to you?”

Garak entered the room; Julian had simply fallen silent now, his shoulders hunched as the small image of Richard Bashir continued to flicker and move on the screen.

“Who in God's name is that? Who are you? What happened to Jules? Why don't you get him proper treatment? That's it, we're coming there, only family can look after family, we'll get you to the right people -”.

Garak stood in front of the screen and fixed Richard Bashir with a look he had not had cause to use for many years. 

“Oh, I don't think so.” 

And he ended the call. 

The silence in the room after this incident was almost obscene. Garak turned to his partner. Julian shakily raised his head and struggled to give his partner a weak smile. He indicated he was going to refresh himself and once he was gone, Garak called up his most trusted colleague and gave him an order, highly classified, to intercept and halt two certain persons from entering Cardassian territory.

This discharged, he went in search of Julian and found him outside in the garden. The beginnings of a garden, at least, Garak told himself. Julian liked to come out here and read, particularly in the early mornings or as evening began to close in. His partner's visceral affinity for his home planet always gave Garak a strange but warm sensation in his chest. Julian had never had such a love for a place called home, a connection to a certain world or planet, and yet he was clearly drawn to the dry heat and stark shapes of Cardassia Prime. Garak examined his partner as he gazed out on the stripped-back landscape, sublime in its expanses, uncomfortable in its bareness. 

“Would you care to check on the orchids with me?”

Garak had erected a small greenhouse to cultivate these blooms, his particular favourites. It sometimes seemed a folly to him, to erect a structure to house flowers which would not otherwise be able to survive in this landscape. They required such care, even without the added challenge of attempting to take root in an environment as unhospitable to them as Cardassia. He touched the orchids gently, examining them, attending to them, spraying them lightly with water, pruning them, giving them extra supports to encourage them to grow. Garak admired them, their complexity, their fragility. Then he turned to his partner, and was confronted with the sight of Julian bent forward, hands covering his face as he shook with silent sobs. 

“Julian.” He whispered and in one movement was in front of him, on his knees, taking his hands from his face, clasping them in his own, pressing his face to his partner's wet cheek. 

“I didn't – I didn't feel broken like this. Until now. When will they stop breaking me, Elim?”

Garak's own eyes burnt at Julian's words. 

“They are the ones who are broken, my love.”

Julian continued to cry and Garak wished he could get Kukalaka for him. He wished he could tell Julian, and be assured he heard him and believed him when he told him that truly it was Richard Bashir, and Amsha who were broken. Their marriage would not have survived this. Yes, Kelas had assessed correctly, he found Julian beautiful, he always had, but that had not changed and never would. In some ways, he found Julian more beautiful today than he had the first time they had met and that was because this Julian was his in ways the young Doctor had not been. This was his love and they were necessary to one another. Life did not make sense without him. Richard Bashir would never understand the beauty in this. Garak had not allowed the Bashirs to enter Cardassia because of what they would do to Julian; however, he had also felt a rush of protective anger for his planet which he knew Richard Bashir would have gazed upon and scorned, he would have recoiled from it, not understood it, and he had found himself wanting to protect her from this ignorance and hurt as much as he wanted to keep Julian away from them.

-

“So, eh.” Miles O'Brien began awkwardly. “What are you doing with yourself these days anyway?” 

A few days previous, Julian had received a call from his old friend, and he had once more declined to answer. After this a message had come through; he and his family were coming to Cardassia for a period, Keiko's expertise once more being sought out in assisting the planet with its flora and irrigation. Garak had been aware of this but he had not revealed it to Julian; he had wanted to wait for the two to come into contact themselves.  
It had taken Julian a day and a night but he had finally responded, typing to his old friend, attempting a brief explanation of how he would perhaps find him somewhat changed. Indeed, upon arrival, Miles had not quite been able to cover the shock on his face, however this was almost instantly replaced with true joy in seeing his old friend again. Garak had turned his attentions to Mrs. O'Brien and her two charming children, leaving the other two to themselves. He showed her his orchids and they discussed his attempts to create a new garden in this climate, and he discussed her own work on Cardassia. Kelas had arrived at some point, and was soon deeply involved in the conversation, Keiko evidently taking to him quickly. 

As they were preparing to leave, Miles had asked this question of Julian. He answered it lightly yet Garak sensed a certain hesitancy to his tone.

“Oh, not much. Considering my options, I suppose.”

“Just that – well, if you had time, mind, I've been reading up on Cardassian history.”

Garak tilted his head quite sharply out of genuine surprise.

“Ah here. Look, what I mean to say is.” He was refusing to let himself get flustered and ploughed on ahead. “That there are actually some decent parts that come up. Reminds me a bit of parts of Irish history.”

“Oh?” Julian had not immediately spoken to Miles with his usual speed and fluency, leaving the other man to take on the majority of the talking. Even though the O'Briens would have had to have their universal translators on in any case, it seemed Julian was self-conscious about talking to his friend through a filter. 

“Just if you wanted to ever look at doing some kind of holosuite programme with me or making models, it doesn't have to be from Earth history only, you know? It can be Cardassian too.”

Julian's smile was wide and bright. Keiko and Garak caught one another's eye and had to look away for fear of their smirks being noticed. Aside from his mirth, Garak was also touched by Miles' attempts to reach out to Julian in this manner. 

“Miles, of course I'll play with you.” 

“Jesus, I didn't – look, fine, alright, we can pick something.” His face was growing increasingly red and Julian appeared to want to take pity on him.

“We can also have you take the Bajoran side if you wish.”

He only went redder at this. “But then we'd be fighting on different sides Julian, the whole point is that I'm on your side.”

-

“Julian, my dear.”

“Mm? Sorry, I was just caught up in this enigma tale. I do wish you'd hurry up and read it too, I want to discuss it with you.”

“I promise I will endeavour to get to the work as soon as I can. I rather had something else I wanted to ask you about.”

“I see.”

“I do not wish to presume and so first I thought it best to enquire as to how you are feeling.”

“Come, Elim, that is far too vague, and you know it. How I feel in relation to what, how I feel physically or how I feel mentally?”

“A valid criticism.”

“Elim. You want to ask me if I want to have sex again.”

“A somewhat inelegant sentence, however, that is the essence of it. Well.”

“Elim, don't be so worried. You are entitled to ask.”

“Entitled is the absolutely last thing I want to be when it comes to you, and especially when it comes to our lovemaking.”

“Come closer to me, love. Yes, I would very, very much like to resume having sex with you. It might be a bit different, though.”

“We have always been somewhat creative in our intimate moments, so this will not be unknown territory to us.”

“That more creative aspect – is that also something you wanted to resume?”

“Oh, Julian, you have no concept.”

“You've missed it desperately, haven't you? Oh, Elim.”

“I must admit I have felt the absence of it more and more recently. It had at one time become a regular part of our lives and it in a way had become a part of myself.”

“Then shall we? Tomorrow, if you like?”  
“You mean, not just in the bedroom but the way -”.

“Yes, outside too, the whole day long, you will be mine, Elim Garak, and will have to do as I order you.”

“Oh, Doctor.”

“Elim?” 

“I apologise, I have not heard you speak in that tone for so long, and now – to hear you say those words in Cardassi, unfiltered, it is having a rather powerful effect on me. Please. Tomorrow would – thank you.”

-

Elim Garak awoke early and yet his partner was still up before him; he was laying out clothes for Garak to wear. Garak noted the fineness of the ensemble. He noticed Garak was awake and he wheeled himself over to him. 

“Elim.”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“What is your safe word?”

“Invoices.” He almost sighed the word, not having used it for so long, in this context.

He looked at his Doctor – there was uncertainty present in him, his fingers quivering almost, an apprehension evident, as if he was waiting for Garak to break and laugh at the situation, how it had changed. He hoped he would be able to demonstrate to his Doctor that this was not the case. 

“Elim.” He attempted to school his voice. “You are to strip for me.”

Garak got to his feet and swiftly removed his nightclothes, disposing of them neatly before turning back to the Doctor, his scales shivering lightly at the initial sensation of being uncovered. 

“Kneel.”

Garak gratefully sank to his knees, his head heavy, bowing, beyond his control. He felt the Doctor wheel himself closer to him before he reached down and tilted his face up towards him. 

“Elim. Why do you kneel for me?”

“Doctor?”

“You are to answer.”

“I – because I want to. I need to. Because you order me to.” 

“There is another reason. Because you are mine. And only I can give you what you need.”

“Yes, Doctor.” He gasped.

“Repeat it, Elim.”

“I am yours, Doctor. Only you can give me what I need.”

The Doctor's fingers moved, stroking his cheek. Garak leaned into the touch. His mind and body felt so open, ready to receive everything his Doctor would bestow upon him, needing to soak it up like a plant in the desert rain. He anticipated the day ahead of them, obeying the Doctor's demands, allowing his mind to sink into this particular space, having to request permission from him for the most personal of needs, constantly aware that he was the Doctor's. Even the slightly altered situation and the logistics it might present only elicited curiosity from Garak as to how they would negotiate this. He ached to see the Doctor fully in this role again, to witness him once more as he rained down blows against his scales, the look that came into his eyes when he bound his hands. Already he wanted to perform any number of services for his Doctor, just to see him above him, to hear him using those words on him.

“Look at how well you kneel for me, Elim. You would kneel there until I told you not to, no?” He continued to caress his cheek and Garak nodded against him.

“You have to answer me, Elim.”

“Yes, Doctor. I would kneel here until you gave me permission to do otherwise.”

“Well, then, Elim – let us begin.”


End file.
